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16*9 




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EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS 


0lcrg Series 

Three volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.25. 
UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA Or the War Fortunes of a Castaway. 
A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA Or Fighting for the Single 
Star. 

FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS Or Under Schley on the Brooklyn. 

WXjt 2$0imti to Suceeeli .Series 

Three volumes Cloth Illustrated Price per volume $1.00. 
RICHARD DARE'S VENTURE Or Striking Out for Himself. 
OLIVER BRIGHT'S SEARCH Or The Mystery of a Mine. 

TO ALASKA FOR GOLD Or The Fortune Hunters of the Yukon. 
(//7 Press.) 

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TRUE TO HIMSELF Or Roger Strong’s Struggle for Place. ( In 
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“ My father, my poor father !” 


Page 18 







RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE 


OR 


STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF 


BY 

EDWARD STRATEMEYER 


U 

AUTHOR OF “ UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA,” “ A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA 
“FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS,” “ OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH” 

“ TO ALASKA FOR GOLD,” ETC., ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


> 

> 

> 

i 

o 


) > 


) 


■> •> 


) 


BOSTON 

LEE AND SHEPARD PUBLISHERS 


1899 


I 










Copyright, 1895, 

By THE MERRIAM COMPANY. 
Copyright, 1899, by Lee and Shepard. 
All Eights Reserved. 

Richard Dare’s Yenture. 


two©©*!** *ecEivea 



Norfoooti $ress 

J. S. Cushing & Co. — Berwick k Smith 
Norwood Mass. U.S.A. 


^jrrs' ^ c b. c V <5 l* 


PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. 




“ Richard Dare’s Venture,” although a complete 
story in itself, forms the initial volume of the “ Bound 
to Succeed ” Series, a line of books written primarily 
for boys, but which it would seem not only girls but 
also persons of mature age have taken up with more or 
less interest. 

The story relates the adventures of a country youth 
who comes to New York to seek his fortune, just as 
many country lads have done in the past and many are 
likely to do in the future. Richard feels that there is 
nothing for him to do in the sleepy village in which he 
resides, and that he must “ strike out for himself,” and 
he does so, with no cash capital to speak of, but with 
plenty of true American backbone, and with the firm 
conviction that if he does his duty as he finds it, and 
watches his chances, he will be sure to make a place 
for himself. 

Richard finds life in the metropolis no bed of roses, 
and when he at length gains a footing he is confronted 

by many a snare and pitfall. But, thanks to the 
iii 


IV 


PREFACE TO THE REVISED EDITION. 


Christian teachings of the best of mothers, and his nat- 
ural uprightness of character, he escapes these evils, 
and gives a practical teaching of the Biblical admoni- 
tion of “ returning evil with good.” 

When the first edition of this work was placed on 
the market several years ago, the author had hoped 
that it would receive some notice ; but he was hardly 
prepared for the warm reception which readers and 
critics alike all over the country accorded it. For this 
enthusiasm he is profoundly grateful. The street 
scenes in New York have been particularly com- 
mended ; the author would add that these are not fic- 
titious, but are taken from life. 

EDWARD STRATEMEYER. 

Newark, N.J., 

March 1, 1899. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER PAGE 

I. A Serious Accident 5 

II. Bitter Moments 17 

III. Preparing to Start 26 

IV. On the Train 35 

V. The Smash-up 43 

VI. Under Suspicion 51 

VII. The End of the Journey 57 

VIII. The “ Watch Below ” 66 

IX. Locked Out 73 

X. The First Night in New York 81 

XL Robbed 93 

XII. On the Search 100 

XIII. Richard Calls on Mr. Joyce 107 

XIV. Work Obtained 114 

XV. New Quarters 123 

XVI. Pep 129 

XVII. Getting Acquainted 136 

XVIII. A Strange Situation 144 

XIX. The Laurel Club 152 

XX. Trouble Brewing 159 

XXI. Richard in Trouble 167 

XXII. Richard Visits Mr. Joyce Again 176 

XXIII. Strange Discoveries 184 

XXIV. Pep’s Home 190 

XXV. Tom Clover 195 

XXVI. A Scene in the Stock-room 202 

XXVII. A Fire and its Result 209 

XXVIII. A Lucky Resolve 216 

XXIX. Frank’s Idea 223 

XXX. Mr. Martin’s Clerks 229 

XXXI. Tom Clover’s Statement 236 

XXXII. The Firm of Massanet and Dare 243 



RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

OR, 

STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


CHAPTER I. 

A SERIOUS ACCIDENT. 

“ It is high time, mother, that I found something 
to do. Father seems to he worse, and I’m afraid 
before long he won’t be able to go to work every 
day. Ever since I finished schooling I’ve felt like a 
fish out of water.” 

And stowing away the remainder of the slice of 
bread he was eating, Richard Dare leaned back in 
his chair and gazed inquiringly across the breakfast - 
table to where his mother stood, ready to clear 
away the dishes when he had finished his meal. 

“Pm sure you have been busy enough, Richard,” 
responded Mrs. Dare fondly. “I am well satisfied 


6 


BICHABD DABE’s VENTTTBE; 


with the way you have planted the garden ; and no 
carpenter could have made a neater job of the front 
fence. You haven’t wasted your time.” 

“ Oh, I don’t mean that. Fixing up around the 
house is well enough. But I mean some regular 
work — some position where I could bring home my 
weekly wages. I know it would be a big help all 
around. It takes a heap of money to run a family 
of three girls and a growing boy.” 

Mrs. Dare smiled sadly. 

“What do you know about that? ’’she askM. 
“We all have enough to eat and drink, and our 
own roof over our heads.” 

“Yes, but I know that my dear mother sits up 
sewing sometimes long after we have gone to bed, 
so that our clothing may be cared for, and I 
know that she hasn’t had a new dress in a year, 
though she deserves a dozen,” added Richard 
heartily. 

“ I haven’t much use for a new dress — I go out 
so little,” said his mother. “But what kind of 
work do you wish to get ? ” 

“ Oh, anything that pays. I’m not particular, so 
long as it’s honest. 

“I’m afraid you will find but few chances in 
Moss vale. Times are dull here — ever since the hat 
factory moved away. I guess the stores have all 


OH, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


T 


the help they want. You might get a place on one 
of the farms.” 

“ I don’t think any farmer would pay much 
besides my board,” replied the boy. “I’ve 
got another plan,” he continued, with some hesi- 
tation. 

“ And what is that ? ” 

“ To try my luck in New York. There ought to 
be room enough for me in such a big city.” 

“ New York ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Dare, in astonish- 
ment. “ Why, you have never been there in your 
whole life ! ” 

“I know it, but I’ve read the papers pretty well, 
and I wouldn’t be afraid but what I could get along 
first rate.” 

Mrs. Dare shook her head doubtfully. 

“It is almost impossible to get a footing there,” 
she declared. “ When we were first married your 
father struggled hard enough, both there and in 
Brooklyn, but somehow, he didn’t seem to make it 
go, and so we moved here. Everything rushes in 
the city, and unless you have some one to speak for 
you no one will give you a chance.” 

“I would take the first thing that came to hand, 
no matter what it paid, and then watch for some- 
thing better.” 

“ It might be that you would have luck,” said 


8 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


Mrs. Dare reflectively. “ I don’t like to discourage 
you. Still ” 

“ You wouldn’t like to see me go away and then 
fail, is that it ? ” 

“ Yes. Failures at the start of life often influence 
all the after years. Suppose you have a talk with 
your father about this.” 

‘ ‘ I thought I’d speak to you first, mother. I wanted 
to know if you would be willing to let me go.” 

“If your father thinks it best, I shall he satisfied, 
Richard. Of course, I will miss you.” 

“ I know that, mother,” returned Richard rising. 
“ But then I could come home once in a while. The 
city is not so very far away.” 

The plan of “striking out” had been in Richard 
Dare’s mind for several months. The country 
school at Mossvale had closed for the season early 
in the spring — so as to allow the farmer boys to do 
their work, and Richard was satisfied that he had 
about learned all that Mr. Parsons, the pedagogue, 
was able or willing to teach, and saw no good reason 
for his returning in the fall. He would have liked 
to continue his studies, but there was only one other 
institute of learning in the neighborhood — a hoard- 
ing academy, where the rates for tuition were high, 
and to this he well knew his parents could not afford 
to send him. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


9 


Mr. Dare was by trade a house painter and dec- 
orator. When a young man he had served three 
years in the army, during the great rebellion, from 
which he had come away with a bullet in his 
shoulder, and a strong tendency towards chronic 
rheumatism. Shortly after he had married, and 
now, twenty years later, his family included four 
children, of which Richard, age sixteen, was next 
to the oldest. 

Mr. Dare was a steady, sober man, who disliked 
excitement, and the quiet plodding along in Moss- 
vale just suited him. He was only a journeyman, 
and it is doubtful if his ambition had ever risen be- 
yond his present station. By frugality he and his 
wife had saved enough to buy a half acre of land in 
this pretty New Jersey village, on which they had 
erected a neat cottage, and here apparently John 
Dare was content to spend the remainder of his 
life. 

But Richard Dare partook of but little of his 
father’s retiring disposition. He was a bright, 
active boy, with a clear heart and brain, and he 
longed to get at some work where energy would be 
the road to success. His comprehension was rapid, 
and beneath an outwardly calm spirit, lurked the 
fire of a youth well trained to grapple with noble 
purposes and bring them to a successful issue. 


10 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Richard’s desire to go to the metropolis was a 
natural one. There was nothing in quiet Mossvale 
to entice any one with push to remain there. The 
entire population of the district did not number 
three hundred people, and the only business places 
were three general stores, a blacksmith shop and a 
cross-roads hotel. 

A number of years previous, Mr. Dixon Maillard, 
a rich man from Newark, had endeavored to boom 
the village by starting a hat factory there, then 
trying to make his employees buy houses and lots 
from him on the installment plan, hut this scheme 
had fallen flat, and the factory plant was removed 
to a more promising locality. 

The Dare cottage stood some little distance from 
the village center. As Mrs. Dare had said, Richard 
had the garden in excellent condition, not only the 
larger portion devoted to the vegetables and small 
fruits, but also the front part, in which were planted 
a great variety of flowers in which his mother took 
keen delight. 

“ Is father coming home to dinner to-day ? ” asked 
Richard, a little later on, as he entered the kitchen 
with a pail of water which Nancy, the oldest of his 
three sisters, had asked him to draw from the 
well. 

“I guess not,” replied the girl. “His rheuma- 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


11 


tism hurt him so much he said he might not be able 
to walk from Dr. Melvin’s new house.” 

“ Ma put up his dinner,” put in Grace, the second 
oldest. 

“Then he won’t he hack,” returned Eichard, 
somewhat disappointed, for he had been calculating 
on broaching the subject of going to New York to 
his father after the midday meal. 

“ He said his shoulder hurt him awfully last 
night,” added Grace. “I heard him tell ma he 
could almost feel the bullet worrying him in the 
flesh.” 

“ It’s mighty queer he doesn’t get a pension,” said 
Nancy. “ I’m sure he deserves one. Didn’t he ever 
apply, Dick ? I read in a Philadelphia paper the 
other day about a man getting sixteen dollars a 
month allowed, and a whole lot of back pay — more 
than two or three thousand dollars ! ” 

“ Two or three thousand dollars ! ” cried Grace. 
“ Oh, Nancy, it’s a fortune ! ” 

“ But it’s true, every word.” 

“I believe father has tried,” replied Richard. 
“But it seems that he must have witnesses to prove 
his identity, and all that ” 

“And can’t he get them ?” asked Grace, eagerly. 

“ I believe not. All his old comrades are either 
dead or scattered, and he hasn’t a single address.” 


12 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Did he ever hunt for any of them ? ” 

“I think he wrote two or three letters, but that’s 
all. You know how father is.” 

“ I just guess I wouldn’t let it rest there ! ” de- 
clared Grace, diving into the bread batter with a 
vim. “I’d advertise in the papers, and turn the 
whole country upside down before I’d give up ! ” 

“Well, father looks at it as a kind of charity, 
anyway,” explained Eichard. “And he doesn’t 
care much to accept it so long as he is able to 
work.” 

“Yes, but, Dick, if he’s entitled to it bylaw, don’t 
you think he ought to take it ? ” 

“ He has certainly lost many a day’s work On ac- 
count of his failing, Nancy. He ought to get some- 
thing for that.” 

“Then why don’t you speak to him about it?” 
asked Grace. “ He’ll listen to you quicker than he 
will to any of us.” 

“ Perhaps I will. Maybe he will give me a list of 
those who knew him in the army, and then I can 
start a grand search, as you suggested. But I’ve 
got a little plan of my own to carry out first, and I 
want you girls to help me.” 

“What plan?” asked Nancy ; and Grace ceased 
her bread-making to listen to what her brother 
might have to say. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


13 


“I’m thinking of going to New York, and I ” 

“New York!” both girls ejaculated. They 
would have been no more astonished had he said 
Paris or Pekin. “ Why, Dick, what put that idea 
into your head ?” continued Nancy. 

“ Take me along if you go,” added Grace. 

“ Nobody but myself put it into my head, Nan,” 
replied Richard, “and I won’t he able to take any- 
body along, Grace.” 

“Going to make your fortune?” queried the 
younger girl. 

“ You’ll get lost,” put in the other. 

“Nonsense! catch Dick getting lost!” cried 
Grace indignantly. “ Didn’t he bring us all safe 
through Baker’s woods last fall, when we were 
nutting ? ” 

“ Baker’s woods isn’t New York city,” replied her 
elder sister. “Hundreds of streets and millions of 
people ! He’d have to keep his eyes wide open and 
his wits about him. ” 

“And that is just what I would do !” broke in 
Richard. “You don’t suppose I’d stand around 
like a gawk, staring at people ! ” 

“ But is it for fortune ? ” repeated Grace, freeing 
her hands from the dough and coming up close. 

“Yes, it’s for fortune, if that’s what you call it,” 
said Richard bluntly. “I’m tired of Mossvale, and 


14 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


I’m going to strike out, that is if I can get consent. 
I’ve spoken to mother about it already, and if ” 

A heavy knock on the back stoop caused Richard 
to stop speaking. Going to the door, he was con- 
fronted by Nicholas Boswell, a young farmer who 
lived a short distance down the road. 

“ Hello, Nick ! ” exclaimed Richard. “ That you ? 
Come in ! ” 

Nicholas Boswell was pale, and his face showed 
a troubled expression. For several seconds he 
seemed hardly able to speak. 

“No, thank’ee, Dick,” he said at last. “I come 

to tell you that ” and here his eyes roved over 

to Nancy and Grace, and he stopped short. 

“What?” asked the hoy. “You ain’t sick, are 
you ? ” he continued, noticing the unusual pallor on 
the other’s countenance. 

“ Oh, no, I ain’t sick,” replied Boswell. “I never 
get sick. I was never sick in my life — ’cepting 
when I was a babby. But I — that is — there’s a man 
— some men wants to see you,” he faltered. 

“ To see me ! Where ?” 

“ They are down the road aways. I’ll show you.” 

“ What do they want ? ” 

“ Come on — never mind asking questions,” clos- 
ing one eye and bobbing his head, as if he did not 
wish the girls to hear more. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


15 


“All right,” returned Richard, and closing the 
door he followed Boswell up the lane to the road. 

“Accidents is bad things, Dick,” began the 
young farmer, as they drew away from the house. 
“But they will happen, you know — they will hap- 
pen.” 

“ What do you mean ? ” asked the hoy quickly. 
“Who’s had an accident ?” 

“ Well, you see a man with the rheumatism ain’t 
so sure of his footing as is one who ain’t got no 
such affliction.” 

“ And my father ? ” began Richard, his heart 
jumping suddenly into his throat. 

“Your father as a painter often climbed long, 
limbery ladders as he hadn’t oughter,” continued 
Boswell soberly. 

“Is he — is he dead f ” gasped the boy, standing 
stock-still. 

“No, oh, no!” exclaimed the young farmer. 
“But he had an awful fall, and he’s pretty bad. 
I thought I’d tell you first, ’cause it might shock 
your mother.” 

“Where is he?” 

“ The men is bringing him up the road. Here 
they come now. You’d better go back, and kinder 
break the news to the folks. I’m terribly gritty — 
as gritty as any man — but I can’t do that ! ” 


16 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Richard did not hear the last words. Trembling 
from head to foot, he sped up the road to meet four 
men, carrying a rude stretcher between them and 
slowly approaching. 



OK, STKIKXNO OUT EOli HIMSELF. 


17 


CHAPTER II. 

BITTER MOMENTS^ 

The serious accident that had befallen Mr. Dare 
was in reality a very simple one. The ladder that 
he- had been ascending was covered with early 
morning dew, and when near the top his foot had 
slipped, and, being unable, on account of his 
rheumatism, to catch a quick hold, he had fallen on 
his side to the ground. No one had seen his fall, 
and he lay unconscious for full ten minutes before 
a fellow workman, who had been busy on the other 
side of the building, discovered him and summoned 
assistance. 

The five or six men that were soon gathered did 
what they could to bring him to consciousness, but 
without success. One of them ran off to hunt up 
the doctor, and then the others took a door that 
had not yet been hung in the new house, and, fast- 
ening a heavy strip at either end for handles, cov- 
ered it with their coats, and placed the wounded 

man upon it. 

2 


18 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


None of the men cared to face Mrs. Dare with 
snch painful news, and it was only after repeated 
urging that Nicholas Boswell had been induced to 
go on ahead. 

“ My father, my poor father ! ” was all Richard 
could say, as he gazed at the motionless form upon 
the litter. 

“ Reckon he’s hurt pretty had,” said Sandy Stone, 
a mason, who had been the first to he called to the 
scene of the accident. “’Tain’t outside so much as 
it’s in. Wait till we get him home.” 

For Richard was bending over his father, and try- 
ing his best to do something that would help the 
unconscious sufferer. 

“ Did you send for the doctor ? ” 

“Yes; sent for Dr. Melvin first thing,” replied 
one of the others. “ But we don’t know where he 
is.” 

“I think he is over at old Mrs. Brown’s,” re- 
turned the boy. “ I saw him walking that way 
a while ago.” 

“I’ll go and see,” put in Nicholas Boswell. 
“ Meanwhile you’d better go and tell your mother.” 

“ My mother ! what will she say ? And Nancy 
and Grace and baby Madge i Oh, it’s dreadful ! ” 
broke out Richard. “I’m sure none of them can 
stand it.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


19 


“ I’ll send my wife over soon as I can,” said Sandy 
Stone. “ She’s as good as a doctor, and can quiet 
your mother, too. Be a brave hoy, Dick, and go 
and tell her. It will he easier, coming from you, 
than it would from any of us.” 

So Richard returned to the house. His mother 
was dusting in the parlor, and going straight to her 
he said : 

“ Mother, the men are bringing father home. 
He slipped on the ladder and got hurt pretty badly. 
You had better get a bed ready for him, and some 
bandages, because he’s got a cut or two on his 
head,” and then, as the mother’s breast began to 
heave : “ Don’t worry, mother ; it may not he near 

as bad as we believe it is.” 

It was over in a moment, and when the men 
arrived Mrs. Dare was as calm as any of them. 

In the cottage one of the bedrooms was situated 
upon the lower floor, and to this Mr. Dare was 
carried, and laid down as tenderly as these men were 
able to do such an unaccustomed task. He drew 
a deep breath when his head touched the pillow, and 
an instant later opened his eyes. 

“ Where am I ? ” were his first words. 

“Home, John,” replied his wife. “ You had a 
fall, and ” 

“Yes, I remember. Oh, how my side hurts !” 


20 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Lie still. The doctor will soon be here. Would 
you like a drink ? ” 

“Yes.” 

Mrs. Dare gave him some water, but he only 
drank a little, and then began to cough. 

“ It’s inside ! ” he gasped. “ My ribs are broken, 
I think.” 

Richard comforted his sisters as best he could. 
It was not long before Dr. Melvin arrived, and his 
coming inspired the little household with hope. 

“Is it very serious ? ” asked Richard, after an ex- 
amination into his father’s condition had been made. 

“ I cannot tell yet. Two of his ribs are dislocated, 
but I dare not touch them until I find out the ex- 
tent of his other internal injuries,” replied the 
doctor. “He must keep quiet, and every ten 
minutes give him a tablespoonful of this mixture.” 

But, though Dr. Melvin gave these directions, it 
was fully an hour before he left, and then he 
promised to return late in the afternoon. 

The whole family were gathered in the sick 
chamber, baby Madge, three years old, sitting on 
Richard’s knee. Nancy and Grace had been fright- 
ened into almost absolute silence, and Mrs. Dare ad- 
dressed herself to her husband, with an occasional 
remark to the boy as to what might further help 
the sufferer. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


21 


“ Don’t trouble yourself, Jane,” said Mr. Dare 
feebly. “ You’ve done enough already,” and then 
the pain caused him to faint away. 

When Dr. Melvin came back they all left the 
room but Mrs. Dare. A thorough examination 
was made that lasted nearly an hour. By the 
grave look on his face when the doctor called him, 
Richard knew that he was to receive no encourag- 
ing news. 

“Your father is worse than I expected,” were 
the doctor’s words. “ He has ruptured a blood 
vessel, and that is bad.” 

“Will he die, do you think ? ” faltered the boy. 

“‘ While there is life there is hope,’” he re- 
sponded evasively, after Richard had repeated his 
question.^ 

“Then you are afraid it will be fatal ?” cried the 
boy, terror-stricken. “ Oh, Dr. Melvin, can’t we do 
something ? ” 

The doctor shook his head. 

“I have done all I can. Such things are beyond 
our reach, and mere medicine does no good.” 

“Have you told my mother and my sisters ? ” 

“ I have told your mother. She expected it from 
the start,” replied the doctor. “You had better go 
in now. Your father wishes to speak to you,” he 
added. 


22 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Richard entered the front chamber at once. As 
he did so, his mother passed out, her eyes filled with 
tears. 

“ Did he tell you ? ” she asked. 

“Yes,” he replied, without being able to utter 
another word. 

“Oh, Richard, I never, never thought that such 
a thing would happen ! Where are Nan and the 
rest ? ” 

“ In the kitchen.” 

“ I must tell them. It is hard on the poor girls.” 

“ And hard on you,” said Dick. “And me, too,” 
he added, with a sigh. 

The curtains of the windows had been drawn, and 
it was quite dark in the room. Richard approached 
the bed and grasped his father’s hand. 

“ Is it you, Richard ? ” questioned the sufferer. 

“Yes, father.” 

“I’m glad you’ve come. I want to talk to 
you.” 

‘ ‘ But it may hurt you to talk too much, ” said the 
boy feelingly. 

“ Never mind. It will all be over soon,” replied 
Mr. Dare with a heavy cough. “I suppose the 
doctor has told you. He said he would.” 

The boy nodded his head. 

“ It is God’s will, and we must bow to His judg- 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


23 


ment,” continued the injured man. “ But I want 
to talk to you about what to do when I am gone.” 

“ Oh, father ! ” 

“ Hush ! I feel that I am sinking, even faster than 
Dr. Melvin thinks. Listen then to what I have to 
say.” 

U I am listening.” 

“ When I’m gone, Bichard, you will have to take 
my place. Your mother is strong, and can do 
much ; but she is a woman, and she, as well as your 
sisters, will need your help. ” 

“ They shall have all that I can possibly give 
them. I will work, and do all I can.” 

“ I know you will, Eichard. You have always 
been a good boy. I am sorry that I cannot leave 
you all better off than I’m doing.” 

“ Never mind, father ; we will get along.” 

“ I suppose I might have done so if I’d had the 
courage to strike out,” continued Mr. Dare, with a 
sigh. “I always calculated to do something for 
myself, but that’s all over now. But you take 
after your mother, the same as your sister Grace, 
and if you make the right start I feel you will 
succeed.” 

“I shall remember what you say.” 

“ Do so. But remember also to be always sober, 
industrious, and considerate of those around you. 


24 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Be true to yourself, and to every one with whom 
you have dealings. You may not get along so fast, 
hut people will respect you more, and your success 
will be ten times sweeter than it would have been 
had you risen by pushing others down. ” 

“ I shall try to deserve success, even if I don’t 
rise very high, father. ” 

“ That’s right.” Mr. Dare paused for a moment. 
“I’m sorry that I cannot leave you more of a 
capital upon which to start in life.” 

“Never mind; I have a common school educa- 
tion and my health. What more can a hoy wish ? ” 

“It is as much as I had upon which to start. 
But I might have left you more. I deserve a pen- 
sion as a soldier.” 

“You never pushed your claim, did you ?” 

“Yes, once. But I never told any of you, for 
fear of raising false hopes. I did apply, and it was 
all straight, but at the last moment the Department 
decided that I must have another witness to prove 
my identity, and this I could not get.” 

“You had one witness, then ? ” 

“Yes. A man named Crawford, who was in our 
regiment. He was appointed an officer on the same 
day I was shot ; but, as he was appointed after the 
occurrence they held that his single witnessing was 
not enough, and so I had to hunt for another.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 25 

“ And you never found the other ? ” 

“No, though I hunted high and low. Some who 
saw the affair must be still living, but I have not 
their addresses, nor do I know how to find them.” 

“ Did you ever advertise in the papers ?” 

“ Yes ; I spent fifty dollars in the columns of the 
leading dailies, but without success.” 

“ You have all the papers in the case ? ” 

“They are in the trunk upstairs. If you can 
ever push the claim do so — for the others’ sake as 
well as your own.” 

“I will, father.” 

“How much it will be worth I do not know, hut 
it may be several thousands of dollars, and that, 
along with this house, which is free and clear, may 
suffice to keep the family many a year.” 

At this juncture a violent fit of coughing seized 
Mr. Dare, and by the time he had recovered, his 
wife and the three girls entered. 


26 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


CHAPTER III. 

PREPARING TO START. 

Two days later the blinds of the little cottage 
were closed, and crape hung in solemn black upon 
the front door. The neighbors, and indeed the 
whole population of the village, came and went 
continually — some few with genuine grief and sym- 
pathy, and the many others to satisfy a morbid 
curiosity regarding the man whose life had so sud- 
denly ended. 

It was a dismal enough time for the inmates. 
Richard did all a brave boy can do to comfort his 
mother and sisters, but he himself needed consola- 
tion fully as much as any of them. He had 
thought much of his father, and the cold form lying 
in the draped coffin in the parlor sent a chill 
through his heart that would have an effect in all 
after life. 

At last the funeral was over, and the last of the 
neighbors had gone away. It was nearly sunset, 
and the entire family had gathered in the little 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


27 


kitchen to partake of a cup of tea, and to talk over 
the situation. Mrs. Dare sat in a rocking-chair be- 
side the table, her face plainly showing her intense 
grief, and near her, on a low stool, sat Eichard. 

“ Well, mother, I suppose I will have to do some- 
thing very soon now,” began the boy. “It won’t 
do for me to remain idle when there is no money 
coming in.” 

Mrs. Dare sighed. 

“ I can’t think of money matters yet, Richard,” 
she replied, shaking her head sadly. “It is all so 
sudden, so unexpected, I cannot realize our terrible 
loss.” 

“ There isn’t a chance for any one in Mossvale,” 
put in Nancy. She herself had been secretly won- 
dering what they were going to do for support. 

“So I told mother some time ago,” responded 
Richard. “The few places here are all filled.” 

“Thought you were going to try New York?” 
said Grace, who was serving the tea. 

“ So I was. But ” The boy did not finish, 

but glanced over to where his mother sat. 

“I could hardly bear to have you go away,” said 
Mrs. Dare. “It would be so lonely — your father 
and you both out of the house. I would rather 
have you home, even if we had a good deal less to 
live upon.” 


28 


RICHAKD DAKE’S VENTUIIE ; 


“ To-morrow I will go out and see what Mossvale 
has to offer/’ returned Richard. “ In our circum- 
stances it would not he right for me to waste any 
time.” 

“Do as you think best,” was Mrs. Dare’s reply. 
“You are old enough to think and act for yourself.” 

But Richard did not wait for the next day before 
he began his hunt. That evening he called upon 
Dr. Melvin to obtain some medicine for his mother, 
and after this portion of his errand was over he 
broached the subject of securing a position. 

“You will find it a hard matter,” said the doctor 
kindly, “ unless you wish to go on one of the farms. 
But they are poor pay, even if you can stand the 
labor, which I doubt.” 

“I would not go on a farm unless I could find 
nothing else,” replied the boy. “Could you give 
me a place ? ” he asked. 

Dr. Melvin nodded his head reflectively. 

“ I might take you in as an office assistant,” he 
replied. “ It would be a good chance to learn medi- 
cine. But there wrnuld not be much to do, and the 
pay would be necessarily small.” 

“ Then I couldn’t afford to accept it,” was Rich- 
ard’s prompt reply. “It is kind in you to make 
the offer, hut I have got to earn enough to support 
the family.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


29 


“ I suppose so. Well, I wish you success. I 
have known you for a number o£ years, and if 
you need a recommendation I will give it to 
you gladly.” 

‘ ‘ Thank you, doctor. I’ll remember that, ” replied 
the boy, and after a few more words of conversation 
he left. 

On the following morning he called upon Mr. 
Barrows, the master painter for whom his father 
had worked. He found the old workman busy in 
his shed, mixing up colors for his journeymen to 
use. 

“ I suppose you’ve come down for the money due 
your father,” remarked Mr. Barrows after he had 
expressed numerous regrets over the sad accident. 
“Well, here it is, the week in full, and I’m mighty 
sorry he isn’t here to receive it himself, and many 
another besides,” and he held out the amount. 

“No, I didn’t come for this exactly,” replied the 
boy. “ Besides there is too much here,” he added, 
as he counted the bills. “ Father did not finish out 
the week.” 

“ Never mind, you take it anyhow,” returned Mr. 
Barrows briefly. ‘ ‘ What was it you wanted ? ” 

“ Work. I want to earn something to support 
my mother and sisters on. We can’t live on noth- 
ing, and what we have saved up won’t last long.” 


30 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“ It’s hard luck, Dick, so it is ! ” exclaimed the old 
painter. “ Tell you what I’ll do, though. I’ll teach 
you the trade — teach you it just as good as your 
father knew it, and pay you a little in the bar- 
gain. ” 

“How much ? I don’t care about the money for 
myself, but ” 

“ Yes, I understand,” broke in Mr. Barrows. 
“ Well, I’ll tell you. I’ll take you to learn the trade 
for three years, and start you at two dollars a week. 
I wouldn’t give any other boy half of that, but I 
know you’re smart, and I feel it my duty to help 
you along.” 

Richard bit his lip in disappointment. He knew 
that what Mr. Barrows said about the amount was 
true, but still he needed more, and for that rea- 
son, he had, somehow, expected a larger sum to be 
offered. 

“I’m much obliged, but I’ll have to think it over 
before I decide,” he said. “Three years is a long 
time to bind one’s self.” 

“ Oh, they’ll slip by before you know it. Besides, 
I’ll raise your wages just as soon as you are worth 
it,” said Mr. Barrows. 

“ I’ll see about it,” was all the boy could answer. 

“ Two dollars a week would not go far towards 
supporting a family of five,” sighed Richard, as he 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


31 


walked away. “And then to be a house painter 
all one’s life ! I must strike something else.” 

But “ striking something else ” was no easy matter, 
as the boy soon learned. A visit to the two stores, 
the blacksmith shop and to several people whom he 
thought might give him employment, brought forth 
no results of value. Either they had nothing for 
him to do, or else the pay offered was altogether 
too small. 

Richard returned home late in the afternoon. 
Grace met him at the end of the lane. 

“Any luck, Dick ? ” she asked eagerly. 

“No,” he replied, and related his experience. 

“Never mind,” returned his sister. “Maybe it 
isn’t so bad after all. The minister is here.” 

“Mr. Cook?” 

“Yes, he’s in the parlor talking to mamma, and 
I heard them mention your name, and say some- 
thing about New York.” 

Richard’s heart gave a bound. He knew that Mr. 
Cook, who was their old family pastor, had great 
influence with his mother, and that she would prob- 
ably go to him for advice. 

“ Guess I’ll go in and hear what he has to say,” 
said Richard, and a moment later he knocked on the 
parlor door and entered. 

Mr. Cook shook him cordially by the hand. 


82 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“We have just been speaking about you/ 5 he 
said. “How have you fared in your search for 
employment ? ” 

The boy told him. 

“ Moss vale is so small, there is hardly any chance,” 
he added. 

“ Your mother tells me that you have an idea you 
could do better in New York,” went on the minister. 
“It is a big place, and nearly every one is almost 
too busy to notice a new-comer.” 

“ I know that. But I should watch my chances.” 

“ And there are many temptations there that never 
arise in such a place as this,” continued Mr. Cook 
earnestly; “and it very often takes all the will 
power a person possesses to keep in the straight and 
narrow path.” 

“ I wouldn’t do what wasn’t right ! ” burst out 
Richard. “I’d starve first ! ” 

Mr. Cook looked down into the clear, outspoken 
face before him. 

“I believe it,” he declared. “You have had a 
good training, thanks to your mother and father. 
Well, I have advised her to let you try your luck in 
the great metropolis.” 

“ Oh, Mr. Cook ! ” 

“Yes. Now don’t get excited. She has thought 
it over, and agrees to let you go for two weeks, at 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


33 


least. The fare is only four dollars and a half, and 
board for that length of time will not be much. Of 
course you can’t put up at an expensive hotel.” 

“I won’t put up anywhere until I find a job,” 
declared Richard. “ I only want my railroad ticket, 
and a dollar or two extra.” 

“ Indeed not ! ” put in Mrs. Dare. “ I would not 
have you stay out doors all night, like a tramp. 
There are plenty of cheap lodging-houses. ” 

“ And when can I go ? ” asked Richard eagerly. 

His mother gave a sad little smile. 

“ Do you want to leave your mother so very soon ? ” 
she asked. 

“Oh, no, only I want to be doing something — 
helping you and the rest,” he replied quickly. 

“ Then you shall go bright and early next Monday 
morning,” returned Mrs. Dare, and she turned away 
to hide the tears that sprang up at the thought of 
her only boy leaving the shelter of the quiet country 
home, to mingle with strangers in the great city 
more than a hundred miles away. 

As for Richard he was delighted with the pros- 
pects. At last the dream of many months was to 
be realized. He was to go to New York, to tread 
the streets of the great metropolis, to find a place 
for himself, and make a fortune ! 

Little did he know or care for the many trials and 
3 


84 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


disappointments in store for him. He was striking 
out for himself, and intended to do his level best. 
Would he succeed or fail ? 

We shall see. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


35 


CHAPTER IV. 

ON THE TRAIN. 

Of course there was a good deal of talking about 
Richard’s proposed venture. The girls seemed 
never to tire of it, and the amount of advice that 
they gave their brother was enough, as the boy 
declared, “to help him along until eternity, and 
two days afterwards.” 

“ You’ll want your best, clothes, city folks are so 
particular,” declared Grace. “And your shirts and 
collars will have to be as stiff as old Deacon Moore’s, 
I expect.” 

“I only want things clean and neat,” replied 
Richard. “ I’m not going there to he a dude. 
I’m going there to work — if I can get anything 
to do.” 

Nevertheless, Grace was bound that he should 
look his best, and spent an extra hour over the 
washtub and ironing-board. 

It was decided that he should not be hampered 
with a trunk, hut should take a valise instead. 


36 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

This Mrs. Dare packed herself, and placed in the 
hallway late on Saturday afternoon. 

Meanwhile Richard was not idle. He did not wish 
to leave any work around the place unfinished, 
and early and late he spent many hours in the 
house and in the garden, doing the things that were 
most needed. 

Sunday morning the whole family, including little 
Madge, attended the pretty white church that was 
the one pride of Mossvale. Richard suspected that 
Mr. Cook had expected him to be there, for the ser- 
mon was on the text, “Be thou strong in the faith, ” 
and advised all, especially the young, to stick to their 
Christian principles, despite the alluring, but harm- 
ful, enticements of the great world around them. 

It was a sober little crowd that gathered in the 
kitchen in the dusk after supper. Richard was a 
trifle louder in his manner than usual, but this was 
only an effort to cover up the evidence of his real 
seriousness. 

“You must not forget to write as soon as you 
arrive and find a stopping place,” cautioned Mrs. 
Dare for at least the fifth time. 

“Yes, and don’t forget to tell us all about what 
happened on the train,” put in Grace. “I’m sure 
that in such a long ride as that you ought to have 
some kind of an adventure.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


37 


“ I trust that he does not,” returned the mother. 
“An adventure would probably mean an accident, 
and we have had enough already ; ” and she gave a 
long sigh. 

“ Don’t fear hut what I’ll write,” replied Rich- 
ard. “ And if anything unusual happens I’ll put it 
down.” 

But all evenings must come to an end, and finally, 
as the clock struck ten, the good-night word went 
its round, and they separated. 

No need to call Richard on the following morning. 
He was up and dressed at five, and impatient for 
the start. Every one turned in towards serving 
him a hot breakfast, and in addition Mrs. Dare put 
him up a tidy lunch in a box. 

There was one thing, though, that the hoy was 
obstinate about. He would not accept all of the 
money that Mrs. Dare thought it her duty to make 
him take. The price of his ticket and five dollars 
was Richard’s limit, and to this he stuck. 

“ If I get real hard up I’ll write for more,” was 
his declaration. “You will need what you have 
saved, and I am sure I can get along without it.” 

Mrs. Dare shook her head. But it was all to no 
purpose. Richard was firm, and doubly so when 
Grace gave him a pert look of approval. 

The news of the departure had spread, and at the 


38 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


depot the boy met several who had come to see him 
off — Mr. Cook and two or three boy friends, includ- 
ing Charley Wood, the son of a neighbor, who was 
not slow in giving the lion’s share of his attention 
to Grace. 

“ Here comes the train ! ” exclaimed Nancy, after 
a rather long wait, and a moment later, with ringing 
bell, the locomotive rounded the curve below, and 
the cars rolled into the depot. 

“All aboard for Rockvale, Beverly, and New 
York ! Way train for Hurley, Allendale, Hobb’s 
Dam, and all stations south of Bakersville Junc- 
tion ! ” shouted the conductor. “ Lively, please.” 

There was a hurried hand-shaking, and several 
warm kisses. 

“Good-by, Richard,” said Mrs. Dare. “God be 
with you ! ” And then she added in a whisper : 
“ Don’t be afraid to come home as soon as you don’t 
like it any more.” 

“I’ll remember, mother,” he replied. “Don’t 
worry about me. It’s all right. Good-by, each and 
everybody ! ” 

Valise in hand, he climbed up the steps and 
entered one of the cars. He had hardly time to 
reach a window seat, and wave a parting adieu, 
when the train moved off. 

He looked back as long as he could. Mother 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


39 


and sister were waving their handkerchiefs, Grace 
having brought her largest for this special oc- 
casion. 

But the train went swiftly on its way, and soon 
Mossvale and its people were left behind. 

“ Off at last ! ” was Kichard’s mental comment. 
“ It’s sink or swim now. Good-by to Mossvale and 
the old life ! ” 

Yet it must in truth he confessed that there was 
just the suspicion of a tear in his eye and a lump 
in his throat as he settled back in his seat, but he 
hastily brushed away the one and swallowed the 
other, and put on as bold a front as he could. 

The car was only partially filled, and he had a 
double seat all to himself. He placed his valise 
beside him, and then gazed at the ever-varying 
panorama that rushed past. 

But his mind was not given to the scenes that 
were thus presenting themselves. His thoughts 
were far ahead, speculating upon What it would be 
best to do when his destination was reached. 

He knew New York was a big place, and felt 
tolerably certain that few, if indeed any, would 
care to give him the information that he knew he 
needed. 

Presently the train began to stop at various 
stations, and the car commenced to fill up. 


40 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ This seat taken ? 55 said a gentleman, as he 
stopped beside Richard. 

“ No, sir,” replied the boy, and made room for the 
other. 

“ Thank you,” returned the gentleman. “ Rather 
crowded,” he continued, as he sat down, and de- 
posited a huge valise beside Richard’s, which had 
been placed upon the floor. 

“I might have checked my satchel,” remarked 
Richard, noting that the two valises rather crowded 
things. 

“ So might I,” was the new-comer’s reply, “but 
I thought it would be too much trouble in New 
York getting it.” 

“ I’m not used to travelling,” explained Richard, 
“ and so I thought it best to have my baggage where 
I could lay my hands on it.” 

The gentleman looked at him curiously. 

“ Going to the city ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, sir.” * 

“ First trip ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ You’ll see a good many strange sights. Going 
to stay several days, I presume.” 

“Longer than that, sir. I’m going there to try 
my luck.” 

The gentleman looked surprised. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


41 


“ I hope you’ll succeed,” he said. “You will find 
it rather uphill work, I’m afraid. Where are you 
from, if I may ask ? ” 

“ I come from Mossvale. My name is Richard 
Dare. My father died from an accident a short 
while ago, and, as there didn’t seem to be anything 
in our village for me to work at, I made up my 
mind to try New York. 

The hoy’s open manner evidently pleased his list- 
ener. 

“ I am glad to know you,” he returned. My 
name is Joyce — Timothy Joyce. I am a leather 
dealer — down in the Swamp. Here is my card.” 

- “ The Swamp ? ” queried Richard, puzzled by the 
appellation. 

“Yes — at least that’s what us oldtime folks call 
it. There used to be a swamp there years ago. I’m 
on Jacob Street. Maybe I can help you around a 
bit.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Joyce ; I’m glad to know you,” 
replied Richard gratefully. c ‘ I’m a perfect stranger, 
as I said, and it will be right handy to have some 
one to give me a few points.” 

Mr. Joyce smiled. He was quite taken by the 
boy’s frank manner. 

“I’ll give you all the points I can,” he 
said. “You must keep your eyes and ears open. 


42 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


though, for there are many pitfalls for the un- 
wary. ” 

Mr. Joyce felt in his coat pocket. “ Here is a 
map of the city. I am going out in the smoker 
presently, to enjoy a cigar. I would advise you to 
study it while I am gone, and when I come back 
I’ll explain anything that you can’t understand.” 

“ Thank you, I will.” 

“ Just look to my bag while I am gone, will you ? ” 
continued Mr. Joyce, as he arose. 

When alone, Richard became absorbed in the 
map at once. 

On and on sped the train, now running faster 
than ever. But Richard took no notice. He was 
deep in the little volume, trying his best to memorize 
the names of the streets and their locations. 

“It’s not a very regular city,” he sighed. 
“Streets run in all directions, and some of them 
are as crooked as a ram’s horn. If I ever ” 

A sudden jar at this instant caused Richard to 
pitch forward from his seat. Then, before he 
realized what had happened, the car tilted, and then 
turned completely over on its side. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


43 


CHAPTER Y. 

THE S M A S H-U P. 

Richard was bewildered and alarmed by what 
had happened. As the car went over upon the side 
nearest to which he was sitting, he fell down be- 
tween the windows, with his head resting upon the 
bundle-holder, that a moment before had been 
over him. 

His own valise and that belonging to Mr. Joyce 
came down on top of him, and as both were heavy, 
they knocked the breath completely out of him. 

As soon as the boy had somewhat regained this 
and his scattered senses, he scrambled to his feet, 
and tried to look around him. 

Daylight shone into the car from the windows 
above, but all was dust and confusion, mingled 
with the cries of women and the loud exclamations 
of men. 

Luckily Richard was not far from the rear door, 
and having somewhat recovered from the shock, he 
resolved to get out as speedily as possible. 


44 EICHAED daee’s ventuee ; 

The car had now stopped moving, and as there 
seemed to he no immediate danger of anything 
more happening, the boy stopped to get the two 
valises. 

With such a load it was no easy matter climbing 
over the seats to the door. Yet the feat was 
accomplished, and two minutes later, with an ex- 
clamation of relief, Richard pitched his baggage to 
the bank beside the track, and sprang to the solid 
ground. 

His foot had been slightly sprained when the 
shock came, but in the excitement he hardly noticed 
the pain. He could readily see that assistance was 
needed on all sides, and he was not slow to render 
all that lay in his power. 

The cause of the accident could be seen at a 
glance. A heavy freight train had backed down 
from a side track, smashing the locomotive at- 
tached to the passenger cars, and throwing three 
of the latter off the track. 

One of the cars— the first — had been turned 
completely over, and to this every one was 
hurrying. 

“It’s the smoking car,” replied a man, to Rich- 
ard’s eager question. “It’s full of men, too.” 

Setting down the two valises within easy reach, 
the boy hurried forward. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


45 


“ Mr. Joyce is in there,” was his thought. “Oh, 
I hope he isn’t hurt ! ” 

Though Richard had known the man but a short 
hour, yet the city merchant’s cordial manner had 
completely captivated the boy. 

It was no easy matter for the men in the smoker 
to free themselves. In turning over, a number of 
the seats in the car had become loosened, falling 
on many, and blocking up both doors as well. 

But presently several windows were smashed out, 
and the occupants began to pour from these, some 
with their clothing badly torn, others hatless, and 
several severely injured. 

‘ ‘ There are two men in there stuck fast ! ” ex- 
claimed a short, stout man, as puffing and blowing 
he reached the ground. “ I tried to help ’em both, 
but it was no use, — the seats all piled up atop of 
’em. Eeckon they’ll have to be cut away, they’re 
jammed in so tight.” 

Instantly Richard thought of Mr. Joyce. No- 
where in the crowd could he catch sight of the 
gentleman. It was possible that one of the two 
might be his newly-made friend. 

“There’s a tool-house down the road a ways,” 
continued the stout man. “I noticed it as we rode 
past, a moment before we went over.” 

‘ ‘ Where ? ” asked Richard eagerly. 


46 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“On the other side, up the embankment,” was 
the reply. 

“I’ll see if lean get something to work with,” 
returned the hoy. “Just watch my baggage while 
I’m gone.” 

In an instant he was off, running as fast as pos- 
sible. He found the building just as it had been 
described. The door was open, and rushing in, he 
confronted an Irish laborer, who was cleaning up 
some tools. 

“The train has been wrecked, just below,” he 
exclaimed hurriedly. “We want some tools — an 
axe or a crowbar — something — quick ! ” 

“ Train wrecked ? ” repeated the man in astonish- 
ment. 

“Yes, — just below.” 

Richard picked up an axe and an iron bar. 

“ Bring some more tools with you ! ” he cried as 
he started to go. “ It may mean life or death ! ” 

Richard’s earnest manner made an impression 
upon the laborer, and in a few seconds the man was 
following the boy, with his arms full of such im- 
plements as were handy. 

Down at the wreck Richard found that one of the 
two men, a lean, sallow-complexioned individual, 
had already been liberated, but the other was still a 
prisoner. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 47 

“ Just what we want ! ” cried one of the workers, 
as he took the axe from the boy’s hand. “ Can you 
use the bar ? ” 

“ I guess so.” 

“ Follow me, then.” 

Richard crawled into the car after the man. In- 
side it was full of dust, and the thick tobacco smoke 
nearly stifled the boy. 

Near the center of the car they found the unfor- 
tunate passenger. It was not Mr. Timothy Joyce. 

The man was on his back, and a seat, fastened in 
some strange manner, pinned him down. 

“Help me! help me!” he gasped. “That 
thing is staving in all my ribs ! ” 

It did not take Richard long to insert the iron 
bar under one end of the slat and thus pry it up. 
This done the man with the axe gave the side of 
the seat a couple of blows, and then the prisoner 
was free. 

“ Thank God ! ” exclaimed the man, as he sprang 
to his feet, and followed the others out of the car. 
“And thank you, too, my hearties,” he continued 
to the other man and to Richard. “ I thought as 
how I was strangled sure. But Doc Linyard allers 
was a lucky tar. Thanky, messmates, thanky.” 

He was a nautical-looking fellow of perhaps forty. 
He wore a blue pea-jacket and trousers, and under 


48 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


the rolling collar of his gray flannel shirt was tied 
a black bandanna in true sailor style. 

“ Is your chest hurt much ? ” asked Richard, as he 
thought he noticed a look of pain cross the man’s 
countenance. 

“ No bones broken,” was the reply, after a deep 
breath. 

The two were soon standing side by side on the 
bank near the track. 

“Wish I could reward you,” went on the man. 
“ But I ain’t got a dollar all told.” 

And diving into his capacious pocket he brought 
to light only a miscellaneous collection of small 
coins. 

“ Oh, never mind that,” said the boy, coloring a 
trifle. “ I’m glad you’re all right.” 

“ So am I — downright glad, and* no mistake. As 
I said afore, my name is Linyard, Doc Linyard, 
general manager, along with my wife, of the 
Watch Below, the neatest sailors’ lunch-room on 
West Street, New York. I say neatest acause my 
wife keeps it. She’s^ a worker, Betty is. Come and 
see me some time. I won’t forget to treat you well. ” 

“Thank you, Mr. Lin ” 

“Avast there! Don’t tackle no mister to my 
name,” interposed the old sailor. “What’s your 
name ? ” he continued suddenly. 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


49 


Richard told him. 

“ All right, Mr. Dare. I’ll remember it, and you 
too. But don’t go for to put a figure-head to my 
name. Plain Doc Linyard is good enough for such 
a tough customer as me.” 

“ I’ll remember it, Mr ” 

“ Avast, I say ” 

“ I mean Doc Linyard.” 

And shaking hands the two separated. 

Picking up the two valises, Richard made his 
way through the crowd, looking for Mr. Joyce. 
It seemed rather queer that the gentleman who had 
left his baggage in the boy’s care was nowhere to 
be found. 

Richard made quite a number of inquiries, 
especially among the men who had occupied the 
smoking-car, but to no avail. 

The smash-up was no small affair, and it took 
fully an hour before the railroad officials that were 
present could get assistance to the spot. In the 
meantime, the injured were laid out on the grass 
and made as comfortable as circumstances would 
permit. Luckily, several doctors had been passen- 
gers on the train, and as they were uninjured they 
took charge of all who needed their aid. 

Finally a train backed down to take the passen- 
gers to Rockvale, the next town of importance. 

4 


50 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Richard hardly knew what to do. If Mr. Joyce 
was hurt it was certainly his duty to remain. But 
perhaps the gentleman had gone off, to render 
assistance, or, it was possible, on a search for his 
satchel. 

“Guess I’ll take the train and risk it,” was 
Richard’s conclusion. “ He is bound to follow to 
Rockvale sooner or later, and we will probably 
meet in the depot.” 

Nevertheless, as the boy entered the car he felt 
rather uncomfortable, carrying off the property of 
another, who was comparatively a stranger to him. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


51 


CHAPTER YI. 

UNDER SUSPICION. 

“ Well, I’ve had an adventure on the road just 
as Grace hoped I would, ” was Richard’s mental com- 
ment, as he lay back in the car seat. “ So I’ll have 
something to write home after all. But I don’t care 
particularly to have any more such happenings. ” 

For though Richard had taken the whole affair 
rather coolly he now found that it had been more 
the excitement than aught else that had kept him 
up, and he was beginning to feel the full force of 
a most uncomfortable shaking up. 

But this feeling, bordering upon nervous prostra- 
tion, was not confined to the boy alone. Every one 
of the passengers, most of whom had escaped with- 
out a scratch, were decidedly ill at ease. 

It was not long ere Richard thought to take a 
look through the train for Mr. Joyce. 

“He may have got aboard without my seeing 
him,” he said to himself. 

And leaving his baggage piled up in the seat, 


52 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

he made the tour from one end to the other and 
hack. 

He was unsuccessful. It was as if the leather 
merchant had disappeared for good. 

“Hope he turns up,” thought the boy. “If he 
doesn’t what am I to do with his baggage ? I don’t 
know where he lives and — Hold up.” 

He suddenly thought of Mr. Joyce’s card, which 
that gentleman had given him, but a hasty and 
then a thorough search convinced him that the bit 
of pasteboard was no longer in his possession. 

“ Must have slipped out of my pocket in the smash- 
up,” he thought. “Well, I’ll have to make the 
best of it, only I don’t want to carry off another 
person’s property.” 

Eichard did not know enough to leave the valise 
with the baggage master or some of the other rail- 
road officials. This was his first journey of impor- 
tance, and everything was new and strange to him. 
The next station was quite a distance, and after 
thinking the matter over the boy concluded to let 
the matter rest until they reached that point. 

He still retained the guide-book the merchant had 
loaned him, and presently he took it out and began 
to study it more carefully than ever. 

“Father used to live up in that neighborhood,” 
he said to himself, as certain familiar names of 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


53 


streets arose in his mind. “ Sometime, after I’m 
settled, I’ll visit that district and learn if there are 
still any people there who knew him. Who knows 
but what, I might run across some one who knew 
him during the war, and could witness his applica- 
tion ? ” 

The idea was a rather pleasant one, and gave the 
hoy a wide field for meditation and hope. He de* 
termined not only to take a “ run up,” as he had 
said, but also, when the opportunity offered, to 
make a thorough canvass of the locality and get 
every bit of information obtainable. 

“ Ahoy, there ! Mr. Dare. On hoard, too, eh?” 
exclaimed a voice, and looking up Eichard saw Doc 
Linyard’s beaming face. 

“Sit down,” returned the hoy. 

The seat in front was vacant, and in a trice the 
old sailor had it turned over and himself ensconced 
in the soft cushions, opposite Eichard. 

“ Might I ask where you’re hound ? ” asked Doc 
Linyard, after another long string of thanks for 
the services that had been rendered. 

“ I can’t say any more than that I’m going to 
New York. I’m looking for work, and I don’t 
know where I’ll settle. Perhaps I’ll strike nothing 
and have to go back home.” 

“What! A strong, healthy young fellow like 


54 BICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

you ? Nonsense ! Not if you care to lend a willing 
hand.” 

“Oh, I’m anxious enough to do that.” 

“ Then you’ll pull through. Them as is anxious 
and willing always do. I didn’t have much to start 
on when I settled in the city. Only six months’ 
pay at sixteen dollars a month.” 

“How came you to leave the sea ?” asked the 
boy, with considerable curiosity, for Doc Linyard 
was the first regular sailor he had ever known. 

“Oh, you see I was wrecked a couple of times, 
and lost one leg ; this,” he tapped his left knee, “ is 
only a cork one, you know, and then the wife grew 
afeared, and said as how she wanted me ashore. 
But a tar used to the rigging and sech don’t take 
kindly to labor on land, so instead of working 
for other people, I up and started the Watch 
Below.” 

“ What is it — a boarding-house ? ” 

“Not exactly, though we do occasionally take a 
fellow in. It’s a temperance lunch-room for 
sailors, with regular first-class ship grub ; lobscouse, 
plum-duff and sech. Most of the fellows know me, 
and hardly a soul comes ashore but what drops in 
afore he leaves port.” 

“It must pay.” 

“I don’t get fancy prices and only make a living. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 55 

I’d like to ask you down, only maybe it wouldn’t be 
fine enough.” 

Doc Linyard had noticed Richard’s neat appear- 
ance, and saw that the boy was accustomed to 
having every thing “nice.” 

“Oh, I should like to come very much,” replied 
Richard, “that is if I get the chance.” 

On and on rolled the train, and finally the town 
for which it was bound was reached, and the pas- 
sengers alighted and crowded the station. 

It was announced that owing to the disaster no 
train would leave for New York for two hours. 
This left a long time on Richard’s hands, and he 
hardly knew what to do. 

Immediately on the arrival Doc Linyard had 
gone off to hunt up a friend he fancied lived in the 
place. Not far from the station was a little park 
containing a number of benches, and walking over 
to it Richard sat down. 

The lunch his mother had given him came in 
handy now, and he did full justice to it. 

He wished the old sailor was with him to share 
the repast. He had taken a fancy to the tar, 
and loved to listen to his hearty voice and open 
speech. 

After the lunch was disposed of, Richard took a 
short stroll through the town. He did not go far, 


56 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

for he had the two valises with him, and they were 
heavy. 

Presently he returned to the station, and it was 
not long before the train could be seen approaching 
in the distance. Along with a number of others, 
Eichard started to walk over to the right track. 

As he did so two men, who looked like railroad 
officials, approached him. 

“Say, young fellow,” sang out one of the men. 
“ Hold up ; we want to speak to you.” 

“ What is it ? ” asked Eichard. 

“Whose baggage have you got there ?” 

“My own and another man’s.” 

“ What man ? ” asked the other official. 

“A gentleman I met on the train.” 

“ Where is he now ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Pm trying to find him.” 

By this time the train had rolled into the station. 
Not wishing to miss it, Eichard began to move on. 

Both officials made a dive for him, and one of 
them caught him by the shoulder. 

“Not so fast, my fine fellow ? ” he exclaimed. 
“Why, what — what do you want?” asked Eich- 
ard, with a rising color. 

“We want you to give an account of yourself,” 
was the reply. “ Where did you get that valise ? ” 


Oil, STRIKING OUT NOR HIMSELF. 


57 


CHAPTER VII. 

THE END OF THE JOURNEY. 

Despite the knowledge that he was doing no 
wrong, Richard’s heart sank when he heard the 
railroad official call him back. 

He did not think how easy it might be to prove 
himself innocent of all wrong-doing. It was bad 
enough to be suspected. Besides, he had not been 
the only one to hear the harsh words that had been 
spoken, and in a moment a crowd had collected. 

“ I was in the wreck, and this valise belongs to a 
friend of mine, ” replied Richard, as soon as he 
could collect his thoughts. 

“What is your name?” asked the official who 
still held him by the arm. 

Richard told him. 

“ And who was your friend ? ” 

“ His name is — is ” 

And here, being greatly confused, Richard could 
not remember the leather merchant’s name. 

“Come, answer me, ” continued the man sharply. 


58 


BICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ His name is — is I’ve forgotten it ! ” stam- 

mered the boy in confusion. 

“ Humph ! A very plausible excuse I must say, *’ 
sneered the man. 

“ It’s the truth. I met the gentleman on the 
train. He introduced himself, and we had quite a 
chat. Then he asked me to look after his baggage 
while he went into the smoking-car, and while he 
was gone the accident happened.” 

“ Where is the man now ? ” asked the first official. 

“ I don’t know. I’ve been trying to find him.” 

“ Do you expect me to believe that ?” exclaimed 
the other. “ There isn’t a soul missing from that 
wreck ! ” 

“ I can’t help it,” replied Eichard stoutly, for he 
was recovering from the shock he had received. 
“ What I’m telling you is a fact.” 

“ What’s the matter here?” broke in a hearty 
voice ; and Doc Linyard elbowed his way through 
the crowd. “ What’s wrong with the young 
gentleman ? ” 

“ What business is that of yours ?” returned the 
man sharply. 

“Not much may be, but if there’s trouble for him 
I want to know it. He saved my life down in the 
smash-up, and I intend to stand by him, ” returned 
the old tar decidedly. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 59 

“ They think I’m trying to steal this valise, ” ex- 
plained Eichard. 

“ Wliat! ” roared Doc Linyard. “ Confound you 
for a pair of landlubbers ! Don’t you know an 
honest figurehead when you see it ? Look at him ! 
’Pears to me he looks more straightforward than 
those as accuses him.” 

Both officials were taken back by the tar’s aggres- 
sive manner. 

“ Better be careful,” continued the sailor. 
“You don’t know who this young gentleman is, 
and before long you’ll be laying up a heap of 
trouble for yourselves.” 

“We have to be on our guard,” said the first 
official in a milder tone. 

“The young man will have to leave the valise 
here, at least,” added the other. 

“I’m willing to do that,” said Richard. “But 
I’m no thief,” he continued as they walked over to 
the baggage-room. 

“Yes, but that man’s name ” began one of 

the men. 

“Was Joyce — Timothy Joyce ! ” cried the boy. 
“ I knew I would remember it sooner or later.” 

The official took a piece of chalk and scratched 
the name upon the bottom of the valise. 

“ That one is yours ? ” 


60 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“Yes; here is my name on the bottom,” and 
Richard showed it. 

“All right. You can go. If Mr. Joyce calls he 
can get his property, otherwise it will be forwarded 
to the main baggage office in New York. ” 

“Hold up! Not so fast,” put in Doc Liny ard. 
“ Just give him a receipt for that valise. ” 

“Oh, that’s all right, ” replied the man, turning 
red. 

“ Maybe so. But I don’t see as how he ought to 
trust you any more than you trusted him, ” went 
on the tar bluntly. 

“ That’s fair, ” put in an old man, who had stood 
watching the proceedings. “ ‘ What’s sauce for 
the goose is the sauce for the gander.’ ” 

With very bad grace the official wrote down 
something on a pad, tore the page off and thrust it 
at Richard. 

“I hope you’re satisfied,” he snapped to Doc 
Linyard ; and taking up Mr. Joyce’s valise he 
entered an inner room, slamming the door behind 
him. 

“Good riddance to him,” muttered the old tar. 
“ A few brass buttons on his coat has turned his 
head.” 

The train had fortunately been delayed, hut it was 
now moving from the station. Richard and Doc 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


61 


Linyard made a rush for it, and succeeded in board- 
ing the last car. 

“Hope we’re done with adventures,” remarked 
the old tar, when they were seated. ‘ ‘ I’d rather 
have things quiet and easy. ” 

“I must thank you,” said Richard heartily. “I 
don’t know what I would have done if you hadn’t 
come up just when you did.” 

“Shoo — ’tain’t nothing, Mr. Dare, alongside of 
what you did for me,” replied the sailor. “ But I’ve 
had a run of bad luck since I left New York two 
days ago,” he added meditatively. 

“Yes?” questioned the boy with some curiosity. 
“How so?” 

“Well, it’s this way,” began Doc Linyard, cross- 
ing his good leg over the cork one : ‘ ‘ My wife got 
a letter from England last week, saying as how an 
uncle had died, leaving his property to her and her 
brother, Tom Clover. In the letter she was asked 
to see her brother and fix the matter up with him. 
They wrote they didn’t have his address, and so left 
it to her.” 

“I should think that would be all right,” re- 
marked Richard, as the old tar paused. 

“It would be, only for one thing— we don’t 
know where Tom is. He used to live in New 
York, but moved away, we don’t know where. A 


62 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE, 

party told me he thought he had got work in a 
place called Fairwood, but I’ve just come from 
there. ” 

“ And you didn’t find him ?” 

“No ; he had never been in the place. I have an 
idea he is again somewhere in New York.” 

“ Didn’t he used to call on you ? ” 

“Sometimes ; but he was a bit queer, and there 
was times he didn’t show up for months and months. 
He’s pretty old, and couldn’t get around very 
well.” 

“ Is the property valuable ? ” 

“It’s worth over eight hundred pounds — four 
thousand dollars.” 

“It’s a fortune !” exclaimed Richard. 

“’T would be to Betty and me,” returned the 
sailor. “We never had over a hundred dollars in 
cash in our lives.” 

“It’s a pity you can’t find him,” said the boy. 
“What are you going to do? Get your wife’s 
share, and let the other rest ? ” 

“No; that’s the worst of it. By the provisions 
of the will the property can’t be divided very well 
except by the consent of both heirs. ” 

“ In that case I think I’d commence a pretty good 

search for Mr. your wife’s brother. It’s worth 

spending quite a few dollars to find him. ” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 63 

“Just my reckoning. But New York is a big 
place to find any one in.” 

“ Perhaps your brother-in-law will drop in on you 
when you least expect him.” 

“ Hope he does.” 

The two continued the conversation for a long 
time. The more Kichard saw of Doc Linyard, the 
better he liked the bluff old tar, and, to tell the 
truth, the latter was fully as much taken by Rich- 
ard’s open manner. 

It was not long before Richard poured out his 
own tale in all its details. He found a strong sym- 
pathizer in the sailor, who expressed a sincere 
wish that the pension due the Dare family might 
be speedily forthcoming. 

“Somewhat of a like claim to mine,” he re- 
marked. “We are both looking for other people to 
help us out.” 

“And I trust we both succeed,” added Richard 
earnestly. “In fact we must succeed,” he con- 
tinued, with sudden energy. 

“Right you are!” was the reply. “We’re 
bound to get the proper bearings some time.” 

Before they reached their journey’s end they 
were fast friends. 

“ Jersey City ! ” 

It was the brakeman’s cry, and an instant later 


64 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

% 

the train rolled into the vast and gloomy depot, 
and every one was scrambling up and making for 
the door. 

In a moment they were upon the platform, amid 
a surging, pushing mass of people. 

“ Which way?” asked Richard, somewhat con- 
fused by the unusual bustle. 

“This way,” replied the sailor. “Just follow 
me.” 

“West Shore this side! Checks for baggage ! 
Brooklyn Annex to the right ! ” and several similar 
calls filled the boys ears. 

He kept close to the tar, who led the way to the 
slip where a Cortlandt Street boat was in waiting, 
and, dodging several trucks and express wagons, 
they hurried down the bridge and went on board. 

The gentlemen’s cabin was so full of tobacco 
smoke that it nearly stifled Richard, and he was 
not sorry when Doc Linyard led the way straight 
through to the forward deck. 

It was a pleasant day, and the lowering sun cast 
long shadows over the water, and lit up the spires 
and stone piles of the great metropolis that lay be- 
yond, tipped with gold, typical of Richard’s high 
hopes. 

Swiftly the ferryboat crossed the North River, 
crowded with boats. Then it ran into the slip — 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


65 


there was the rattle of the ratchets as the line 
wheels spun around, and finally the gates were 
opened. 

Richard had reached New York at last. 

5 


66 


RICHARD DARE S VENTURE i 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE “ WATCH BELOW.” 

“ Gracious, what a busy place ! ” 

This was the thought that ran through Richard’s 
mind as he stepped from the ferry house to West 
Street, in New York City. 

Doc Linyard had managed to get the boy off the 
boat as soon as the landing was made, but now, as 
they waited for a chance to cross the slippery 
thoroughfare that runs parallel to the water’s edge, 
the crowd surged around them until to Richard 
there seemed to he a perfect jam. 

“ Hack, sir? Astor House? Coupe, madam? 
This way for a cab ! ” 

In a moment they were safe upon the other side 
of the street. 

“Made up your mind which way to steer?” 
asked Doc Linyard. 

“Not exactly,” replied Richard. “This is the 
way to Broadway, I suppose,” he went on, pointing 
up Cortlandt Street. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


67 


“ Yes ; but what do you intend to do up there ? ” 

“I thought I’d take a look around. I imagine I 
can’t do much in the way of finding work at this 
time in the evening.” 

“ No ; you’d best wait till morning. Then get a 
World and a Herald , and look over the want 
advertisements. I reckon that’s the best way of 
striking a position. ” 

“ Thank you, I’ll try that plan. Good-by.” And 
Richard held out his hand. 

“ Won’t you come down to my place afore we 
part?” interposed Doc Linyard. “ It’s only a few 
steps from here.” 

Richard demurred. From the description he had 
been given of the place he knew money was to be 
spent there, and he had no cash to spare. 

“ I — I — guess not,” he faltered. 

“Why not?” 

“ I — well, to tell the truth, I haven’t much to 
spend.” 

The old tar slapped the boy heartily on the 
shoulder. 

“ Don’t worry about that!” he cried. “I’m no 
land-shark. This trip shan’t cost you a cent. 
Come on.” 

And Richard followed. To a new-comer West 
Street is certainly a curious sight. Saloons pre- 


68 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


dominate, but between them are located tiny eating 
houses, cheap clothing shops, meat stalls, bargain 
“ counters,” and lodging-places, only about one in 
ten of the latter being fit for occupancy. 

“Here we are ! ” exclaimed the sailor presently. 

They stepped up to a small restaurant, consider- 
ably neater than its neighbors. Its exterior was 
painted light blue, and over the door in big, black 
letters, hung the sign : 

The Watch Below, 

Doc Linyard, Boatswain. 

And to the right of the door, near a figurehead 
representing a gorgeous mermaid, were added the 
words : 

Messmates Always Welcome. 

The doors were wide open, and the two entered. 

Several men sat at various tables, eating and 
drinking, and behind a counter that did the double 
duty of a pie-stand and a cashier’s desk sat a tall, 
old man with grizzled white hair. 

“ Well, pop ! ” exclaimed Doc Linyard, as he 
stepped up. 

“Hello, my boy! Back again,” returned the 
older man. “ Did you find ’em ? ” he added, in an 
anxious tone. 

“No.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


69 


The old man shook his head ominously. 

“ Too bad, too bad,” he murmured. 

But he was evidently too old to take a very 
strong interest in the matter. 

“ Never mind, it will all come outright in the 
end,” was the son’s reassuring reply. “ Where is 
Betty ? ” 

“ In the kitchen.” 

“This is my father,” went on Doc Linyard to 
Richard. “ Pop, here is a chum as I picked up on 
the road. His name is Mr. Dare, and he saved my 
life.” 

“ Saved your life?” queried the old man doubt- 
fully. 

As he spoke a door in the rear opened, and a 
buxom woman of thirty tripped out. She came 
straight up to the sailor and gave him a hearty 
kiss. 

“ No luck, Betty,” said Linyard soberly. 

“No ?” 

“ Not a bit. Couldn’t locate ’em nohow.” 

“It’s too bad, Doc.” 

“And he says his life was saved by this chap,” 
put in the old man, who had been gazing at Rich- 
ard ever since the assertion had been made. 

“ Yes ; we’ve both had strange adventures in the 
last twelve hours.” 


70 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


This bold praise made Richard blush. 

“ Oh, I didn’t do as much as all that,” he ex- 
claimed. “ I only helped him out of the car, just as 
I would have helped any one.” 

“No sech thing, he did lots.” 

And sitting down near the counter, Doc Linyard 
gave a graphic account of all that had tran- 
spired. 

“I thank you very much,” said Mrs. Linyard, 
when her husband had finished. “I know Doc 
won’t forget what you did, and neither will I.” She 
gave the boy’s hand a tight squeeze. “Won’t you 
have some supper with us ? ” 

Richard hesitated. He always was backward in 
accepting favors. 

“ Come don’t say no,” urged Doc Linyard. “By 
the anchor, it’s little enough.” 

Mrs. Linyard led the way to a cozy nook near the 
end of the restaurant, and gave them two seats at 
a small table covered with a snowy white cloth,— a 
table that was generally reserved for officers, or 
“ upper class ” patrons. 

“So you’ve had no luck?” she said to her hus- 
band, as she began to bustle around with the table- 
ware. “It’s queer. What can have become of 
Tom?” 


“ Blessed if I know.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


71 


“We may lose that money, all through him,” 
sighed Mrs. Linyard. 

“ It would be a shame,” put in Richard. “ Your 
husband has told me of the matter. I wish I could 
help you.” 

The sailor laughed good-naturedly. His disposi- 
tion was too easy to worry much over the situation. 

“Reckon as how you’ll have your hands full on 
your own account, finding work and all that,” he 
returned. 

“ I suppose I will. Still I would like to help you. ” 

Mrs. Linyard provided a warm and bountiful sup- 
per, and both enjoyed every dish that was set before 
them. 

“ I mustn’t lose too much time,” went on the boy, 
as he was finishing. “ I must at least find a board- 
ing-house. I don’t want to spend the night in the 
streets.” 

“Ho fear of that,” said the old tar hastily. 
“Betty, another cup of that good coffee, please. 
Tell you what I’ll do if you’re willing. This place 
isn’t as grand as a hotel, but Betty’s beds are as 
clean as any of ’em, and if you will you’re welcome 
to stay all night.” 

“Thank you, I’ll do so gladly,” replied Richard 
quickly, for the proposition took a load from his 
mind. “ I’ll pay you whatever ” 


72 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“ Avast there ! What do you think I am, to take 
money from you for that ? No, thanky, I’m no 
land shark. ” 

“ I know you’re not,” replied Richard quickly, for 
he saw that the sailor’s feelings had been hurt, “but 
I would like to do something in return.” 

“No need of that. Tell you what you can do 
though,” continued Doc Linyard, after a moment’s 
reflection. 

“Well?” 

“Write me out an advertisement for the news- 
papers. My eddication ain’t none of the best, and 
my hand’s more used to a marline spike than it is 
to a pen.” 

“Willingly. What do you want to advertise?” 

“I want to put a notice in for my brother-in-law. 
I’ll give you all the particulars. ” 

“ Very well. Have you pen, ink and paper ? ” 

“Yes ; Betty, will you bring ’em ?” 

Mrs. Linyard nodded. 

A few minutes later the dishes were cleared away, 
and Richard prepared to write out the advertise- 
ment. 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


73 


CHAPTER IX. 

LOCKED OUT. 

During Richard’s and Doc Linyard’s meal the 
Watch Below had been gradually filling up, princi- 
pally with sailors, the majority of whom were short, 
heavy-set men, who clapped each other on the back 
and carried on their conversation in a sea lingo that 
was nearly unintelligible to Richard. 

One thing, however, impressed the boy. All the 
patrons seemed of a better class than most sailors 
are, and he was glad to notice that drunkenness and 
profanity were entirely absent. Once in a while 
some one would let fall some coarse remark, but 
he was quickly choked off by the others out of re- 
spect for “ Doc’s Betty,” who hurried around with 
a shining face, waiting on one and exchanging a 
pleasant word with another. 

Every one was on familar terms with the pro- 
prietor. They were glad to see him back to the 
“fo’castle,” but those who knew were sorry his 
mission had been unsuccessful 

“They all know me and wishes me well,” re- 


74 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


marked the sailor to Bichard. “It’s something to 
be proud of — around on this here globe forty-five 
years and not an enemy in the world.” 

“ How long were you a sailor ? ” 

“ Almost thirty years. I shipped as cabin boy on 
a South America brig when I was fifteen. I’d be at 
it yet if, as I told you, ^ Betty hadn’t anchored me 
ashore.” 

“ It’s long time. Some time I’d like to hear of 
some of the places you visited. But I’d better get 
at that advertisement.” 

“No hurry — the newspaper office is only a few 
blocks from here.” 

“ But you want this advertisement to go in to- 
morrow, don’t you ? ” 

“ They take ’em up to ten o’clock, and maybe 
later.” 

Presently the crowd began to thin out, and by 
nine o’clock only half-a-dozen customers remained. 
Mrs. Linyard and the old man waited upon these, 
and Doc Linyard drew up to the table and mo- 
tioned Richard to go ahead. 

“ Here is the paper I’m going to put the notice 
in,” he said. # “ Guess you better follow the style of 
the other advertisements.” 

“ I will,” replied Richard, (c What is your 
brother-in-law’s full name ? ” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


75 


“ Thomas Clover. He has no middle name.” 

“ And his address ? ” . 

“ He came from Brighton, England, and lived 
here, in a number of places on the east side.” 

“ The east side ? ” 

“ Yes ; he lived somewhere on Cherry Hill last.” 

“ And what is your wife’s name ? ” 

“ Only Betty. That stands for Elizabeth, I sup- 
pose, but she was never anything else to me or any- 
body else.” 

“ Better let it go at that, then,” returned Rich- 
ard. “ Now what is the name of the estate to be 
divided ? ” 

The old sailor told him. 

“ And say we want to hear from them at once,” 
he added. 

Richard went to work earnestly. Several at- 
tempts to get the advertisement into proper shape 
were failures. Finally he produced the following : 

Information Wanted Immediately of Thomas 
Clover or his heirs, formerly of Brighton, Eng- 
land, but when last heard of lived in Cherry Street, 
this city. v He is an heir of the Peleg Sabine estate 
which awaits settlement. Address Doc Linyard, 
The Watch Below, West Street, New York. 

“ How will that do ?” asked the boy. 


76 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ First-rate ? ” cried Linyard. “ Only don’t put 
my address on it. I want the answer to come 
through a box in the newspaper office. I don’t 
want to be bothered by lawyers and detectives look- 
ing for a job on the case.” 

“ I see,” said Richard, and crossing out the ad- 
dress he substituted the words : 

“ Doc, box , this office.” 

“ Guess I’ll take a walk over to the newspaper 
office at once,” said the old tar, when the boy had 
finished. “ Eeckon as how pop and the mistress 
can get along for a while. I suppose you’d like to 
come along.” 

“ Indeed I would. I’d like to see as much of the 
city as I can before I get to work.” 

“ There’s lots of strange sights, no doubt, to 
new eyes like yours. You’ll find lots that’s 
bright and a heap more that’s dark and dismal 
enough.” 

A moment later they set out. Passing up 
Liberty Street, they turned into Greenwich and 
walked along to Fulton. 

The Elevated Road, with its noise, was a surprise 
to the boy, but he was not allowed time to notice it 
long, for the sailor hurried him up Fulton Street, 
to St. Paul’s Church, and then they stood on Broad- 
way. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 77 

“ What a busy — an awfully busy — street ! ” was 
Richard’s comment. 

“ It’s rather dull now,” said Doc Linyard. 
“ Just wait till day-time. The wagons and people 
are enough to drive a man wild. That’s the post- 
office over there,” he continued, as he pointed to 
the stone structure that stands as a wedge, separat- 
ing Broadway from Park Row and the Bowery. 

“ Come ahead. Here we are on Newspaper Row, 
as lots call it. This was the Herald building before 
that paper moved uptown. It used to be Barnum’s 
Museum years ago. Way down at the head of 
Frankfort Street is the World , and nearly all the 
rest of the great dailies are strung along between 
the two. Here we are.” 

As Doc Linyard finished he led the way into the 
outer office of a newspaper about midway down the 
Row. 

It was a lively place, a constant stream of people 
coming in and going out, and the hum of many 
voices— the whole putting Richard in mind of 
some huge machine, grinding out its stipulated 
work. 

Along one side of the counting room was a row 
of small windows, each labeled with its department 
name. 

Stepping up to that marked “ Advertisements,” 


78 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

the old sailor handed in the one Richard had writ- 
ten out. 

The clerk examined it. Then he wrote in the 
number of a box, and put down several private 
marks in the corner. 

“ Pay at the next desk,” he said, handing the 
paper back. 

“ How much will it he ? ” asked Linyard. 

“ Ninety cents.” 

At the next window the man in charge put the 
advertisement on file along with numerous others. 
Then he took the money the tar handed over, and 
in return filled out a printed order entitling the 
bearer to receive all letters bearing the address 
advertised, for ten days. 

“It will go in to-morrow ?” asked the tar. 

“ Certainly.” 

“Suppose we take a walk up the Bowery,” sug- 
gested the sailor, when they were once more out- 
side. “ It’s early yet.” 

Richard readily consented. He had often heard 
his father speak of the street — how beautiful it 
had been years ago, and how trade had taken hold 
of it, and the boy was curious to see what it was 
like. 

The thoroughfare was a revelation to him, just as 
it is to every one seeing it for the first time. The 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 79 

shops huddled together, their show-windows littered 
with articles of- every description, the second-hand 
establishments, the pawnbrokers, the peddlers and 
street-stand merchants, who offered everything 
from shoelaces to collars, hooks and trick novelties, 
were all decidedly new to him. 

One stand in particular attracted his attention. 
It was laden with choice books, at remarkably low 
prices. There was a well-bound history of the 
United States for forty-five cents, and a beautiful 
edition of Shakspere, with steel engravings, for the 
small price of one dollar. 

4 ‘ Selling ’em off cheap, ” cried the vender, putting 
several volumes in Richard’s hands. “ Take ’em 
right along. You’ll miss the opportunity of a life- 
time if you don’t.” 

“They are very nice,” replied the hoy. “But I 
guess I won’t take any to-night.” 

“You’d better. They may he all gone by to- 
morrow. This is only a job lot, and dirt cheap.” 

“No, I guess not,” and Richard put the books 
reluctantly back on the stand. 

“ Give you a special discount of ten per cent,” 
persisted the dealer. 

“No ; I haven’t the money.” 

“ Oh ! Well, come around to-morrow. I’ll lay 
the books aside for you.” 


80 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“ No, don’t do that. I may not he back, ” and with- 
out waiting for further words, Richard hurried off. 

Meanwhile Doc Linyard, all unconscious of what 
was transpiring, had gone on ahead, and when 
Richard looked around for him, the old sailor was 
nowhere to be seen. 

Rather startled, the hoy hurried along to catch up. 
But under the Elevated Railroad and down by the 
Brooklyn Bridge all was confusion and jam, and in a 
moment Richard realized that he had lost his friend. 

He hurried along several blocks, and then just as 
rapidly retraced his steps. But it was useless. Doc 
Linyard had disappeared in the crowd and was not 
to be found. 

“ Now I’m in a pretty pickle,” thought Richard. 
“I suppose there is nothing to do but get back to 
the Watch Below.” 

But that was easier said than done. The boy did 
not like to make too many inquiries, and so started 
off on his own account. 

He paid dearly for the experiment. A wrong 
turn or two, and lo ! it took Richard an hour to get 
back to West Street and to the restaurant. 

And arrived here, an awkward state of affairs 
confronted the boy. The Watch Below was closed 
for the night. All was dark, and not a soul was in 
sight ! . 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


81 


CHAPTER X. 

THE FIRST NIGHT IN NEW YORK. 

For an instant a feeling of intense loneliness 
swept over Richard’s heart as he stood on the dark 
and silent pavement. He had firmly counted upon 
spending the night at the Watch Below, and now 
to find that place closed up caused his heart to sink 
within him. He reproached himself bitterly for 
having allowed his curiosity and love of hooks to 
make him forgetful of his situation. 

“ How am I ever to get along in this world unless 
I watch out?” he said to himself dismally. “I 
suppose it will do no good to knock on the door. 
By the way the place is located, the sleeping- room 
must be upstairs in the rear, and I might pound till 
doomsday without any one hearing me.” 

Nevertheless, he rapped loudly upon the door, not 
once, but several times, and so hard that he drew 
the attention of the policeman on that beat. 

“ Phat are you trying to do ? ” asked the officer as 

he came up. 

6 


82 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ I want to get in ; ” and Richard related the par- 
ticulars of his plight. 

4 ‘You’ll have a job, me b’y,” was the reply. 
‘ ‘ Mrs. Betty slapes like a log. ” 

They waited for several minutes in silence. But 
nobody appeared and no sound came from within. 

“Phatareyou going to do?” asked the police- 
man finally. 

“ I don’t know, I’m sure. My valise is inside 
with my money. I’ve only got twenty cents in 
change in my pocket. ” 

“ There’s a lodging-house in Washington Street 
where you can get a bed for that,” went on the 
officer. “ But it’s not over clean.” 

“I don’t want to go where it’s dirty,” replied the 
boy, shuddering. 

And for a brief instant a vision of his own neat 
and tidy cot at home floated through his mind. 

“ Well, Oi dunno ; you can’t stay out here.” 

While trying to plan what to do a man turned 
the corner and came toward them. By the walk 
Richard recognized Doc Linyard, and with a cry of 
joy he ran up to the old tar. 

“Ahoy ! so here you are ?” exclaimed the sailor, 
his face beaming with satisfaction. “A nice chase 
you’ve led me ! Where did you go to ? ” 

“ Nowhere. I stopped to look at some books and 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 83 

then I couldn’t find you again,” replied Richard. 
“ I’m so glad you’ve come. They’ve gone to 
bed.” 

“ All below decks, eh ? Well, it’s time. I’ve 
spent an hour looking for you over on the Bowery. 
How are you, Mulligan?” the last to the police- 
man, who nodded pleasantly. 

Producing a key, Doc Linyard opened the res- 
taurant door. Then he handed the policeman a 
cigar as a reward for the trouble the officer had 
taken, and he and Richard entered. 

The old sailor locked the door carefully behind 
them and lit a hand lamp that his thoughtful wife 
had placed upon the front counter. 

“ I thought such places as this kept lights all 
night, ’’ observed Richard, as they walked back. 

“ Most of ’em do, — them as has gas. But the 
insurance companies think oil dangerous, so we do 
without.” 

Doc Linyard preceded the boy up a narrow stair- 
way to a small room on the third floor. 

“Here you are,” he exclaimed, as he set the 
lamp down on a table. “ Betty got it all fixed for 
you. There’s your valise and the bed’s waiting for 
you. Take my advice and don’t get up too early, not 
afore seven o’clock any way, — and pleasant dreams 
to you. ” 


84 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 

“ Thank you ; the same to you,” replied Richard 
sincerely. 

It was a cozy apartment, and the boy had not 
been in it over five minutes before he felt perfectly 
at home. Before retiring he sat down to write the 
promised letter home. 

He had no ink ; but paper and envelopes had 
been brought along, and in half an hour his lead 
pencil had filled several sheets with a very credit- 
able account of what had transpired. 

This done he undressed and retired, not, how- 
ever, before thanking God for his kind care, and 
asking for His help and guidance during whatever 
was to follow. 

Despite the varied fortunes of his trip, the boy’s 
sleep was a sound one, and it lacked but a few 
minutes to seven when he awoke in the morning. 

A basin of clean water stood on a stand at the 
foot of the bed, and after a plunge into this, he 
dressed, combed his hair, and went below. 

Of course the restaurant was already comfortably 
filled, and as a matter of fact, had been for over an 
hour. 

“ Hello, my hearty ! on deck I see,” called out 
Doc Linyard. “I hope you slept well in your 
strange bunk. ” 

“ First rate, ” was Richard’s reply. “ And longer ' 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


85 


than I expected, too. Guess I’ll start right out to 
look for work. 

“ Not afore you’ve had some breakfast. Sit 
down, and I’ll fetch you some coffee and biscuits. 
Here’s the morning papers ; you can look ’em over 
— the Male Help Wanted column. Beckon you’ll 
find something worth trying for.” 

Finding remonstrances of no avail, Richard sat 
down and allowed himself to be helped to a morn- 
ing repast. 

While eating he looked over the paper, and 
found quite a number of places worth hunting up. 
By the aid of the map Mr. Joyce had loaned him he 
sorted out the addresses in regular order, and put 
them down in his note-book. 

“ Here is that newspaper office order,” said the 
sailor, as Richard was about to leave. “If you’re 
around in that neighborhood in the afternoon just 
see if there are any answers. One might have 
come already.” 

“ I will,” replied Richard. Can I leave my valise 
here ? ” 

“ Certainly ; I want you to make yourself at home 
here until you find a better place.” 

“ Thank you. But I must pay you ” 

“Not a cent You helped me, and I’m going to 
do my duty by you. I’m no land shark.” 


86 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 

And the old sailor shook his head in a way that 
showed he meant every word he said. 

Boy Wanted, bright and active ; to help feed. 
Norris Printing Co., Water St., near Wall. 

Such was the wording of the first advertisement 
on Richard’s list. 

He knew Wall Street ran from Broadway oppo- 
site Trinity Church, towards the East River, and 
he was not long in reaching that famous money 
mart, where millions of dollars change hands each 
day between the hours of 10 A. M. and 3 p. m. The 
grand approaches to many of the buildings made 
him feel timid, and he could not help but wonder if 
the place to which he was going was also so mag- 
nificent. 

But Water Street, crooked, ill paved and dirty, 
was a decided contrast to its neighbor. Storage 
and warehouses abounded ; and the numerous 
trucks backed up to receive or deliver goods 
necessitated walking more in the street than on 
the sidewalk. 

The building occupied by the Norris Printing Co. 
was at length reached. The office was on the 
second floor, and climbing up a flight of worn and 
grimy steps, Richard knocked at the door. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


87 


“Come in,” said a voice from inside, and he 
entered. 

“ I understand you want a boy to help feed,” he 
began, addressing a man who sat at a desk piled 
with books and printed sheets. 

“Apply to Mr. Nelson, in the basement,” was 
the brief reply. 

“Yes, sir.” 

The stairs to the lowest floor were even narrower 
than the others had been. It led to a press- 
room that seemed to be one mass of motion and 
noise. 

Mr. Nelson proved to he a pleasant man of perhaps 
fifty. 

“Had any experience?” he asked, after Kichard 
had announced his errand. 

“No, sir ; but I think I can learn as quickly as 
anybody. ” 

“Perhaps; but we couldn't pay you so much 
while you were learning. ” 

“How much would you start me at — if I 
worked real hard ? ” 

Mr. Nelson hesitated. 

“ We’ll give you two dollars a week to begin,” he 
said. “ When you can do as much as the rest we’ll 
raise you to three or four. ” 

Richard’s hopes fell. Even four dollars a week 


88 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


would barely keep him, much less allow of money 
being sent home. 

“I’m afraid I can’t accept it,” he said. “I must 
support myself and I can’t do it on two dollars a 
week.” 

“ It’s all we can allow,” replied Mr. Nelson, and 
he turned away to his work. 

In a moment Richard was on the street again. 
The setback chilled his ardor, but only for an 
instant, and then he hurried on to the next 
place. 

It was a confectionery store, and entering, he 
purchased five cents’ worth of chewing gum, such 
as he knew his little sister would like. 

“I understand you want a boy,” he said to the 
proprietor, who happened to be the one to wait on 
him. 

“ I hired one about an hour ago,” was the reply. 
“Are you looking for a place ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

The man gave Richard a sharp glance. 

“You look like a bright sort of a chap,” he said. 
“Suppose you leave me your address? The other 
boy may not suit.” 

So Richard put down his name and the address of 
the Watch Below. 

“I’m only stopping there temporarily,” he ex- 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


89 


plained, “ and may leave, but I’ll drop around 
again in a day or two if I don’t strike anything 
else.” 

“Do ; I don’t like the other boy much. I only 
took him because a friend asked me to.” 

“ What do you pay ? ” 

“ Four dollars a week, and I might make it five 
if you would be willing to help on the wagon as 
well as in the store.” 

“ I certainly would,” replied Richard promptly. 
“ I’m willing to work real hard at anything, pro- 
viding it’s honest.” 

“ That’s the way I like to hear a lad talk,” said 
the confectioner approvingly. 

“Five dollars a week is certainly better than 
two,” was Richard’s mental comment, as he hurried 
along. “Perhaps the next place will offer some- 
thing better still.” 

But the next place was already filled ; and so were 
the three that followed. 

The seventh was on Yesey Street, the neighbor- 
hood that supplies half the metropolis with tea and 
coffee. A boy was wanted to help fill orders and 
deliver — a man’s work — though Richard did not 
know it. 

“We’ll pay you seven dollars,” was the mer- 
chant’s reply, after the boy had inquired after the 


90 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


place. “ You will have to deliver principally, and 
collect, of course.” 

“ And when can I go to work ? ” asked Eichard, 
overjoyed at an opening that promised so well. 

“Anytime. Eight away if you like. But you’ll 
have to furnish twenty-five dollars security.” 

This news put a damper on the boy’s hopes. 

“ Twenty-five dollars security ? ” he repeated. 

“Yes. You’ll have more than that to collect ” — 
which was not true — “and of course you will be 
t responsible, and must turn in the money for every 
order taken out.” 

“ I’d be sure to do that, or else return the goods.” 

“We don’t take the goods back,” was the firm 
reply. “ Everything that goes out has been ordered 
and is charged to the account of the one taking the 
goods out.” 

“ Who takes the orders ? ” 

“ Our canvassers.” 

“But the orders may not be good,” suggested 
the boy. “People sometimes change their minds, 
especially when they’ve been talked into buying. ” 

“The orders are always good. Besides, if a per- 
son refuses to honor his order all you’ve got to do 
is to turn round and sell the packages to some one 
else. Come, what do you say? You’d better try 
it. It’s a good offer.” 


I 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 91 

“I haven’t got the money,” was Eichard’s reply. 

And for some reason he was glad of the fact. 

“ Better get it then and go to work,” urged the 
merchant. “ You can’t make seven dollars a week 
easier.” 

“I’ll think it over,” replied the boy. 

There was something in the offer that did not 
strike him favorably, and indeed it was a good 
thing that he was not in a position to accept it. 

The whole proposition was hardly above a com- 
mon swindle, enough bogus orders being put among 
the honest ones either to make the one undertaking 
the job do a lot of peddling on his own account, or 
else cause him to pay away half his salary on the 
goods left over. 

Walking up Vesey Street, Eichard found himself 
directly opposite the post-office. By the clock on 
St. Paul’s he saw that it was long after noon. 

Eather disheartened at his non-success after 
spending a whole morning in the search for work, 
he rounded the Astor House corner and crossed 
Broadway. 

“ Newspaper Bow,” as Doc Linyard had appropri- 
ately called it, was just across the opposite street, 
and the boy made up his mind to visit the office 
where the advertisement had been left, and see if 
there were any letters as yet for the old sailor. 




92 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


The doors of the post-office were open on both 
sides, and, curious to see how the building looked 
inside, Richard started to go through instead of 
going around. 

The many departments upon the ground floor 
w~ere a study to him, and the signs — Domestic Mails, 
Foreign Mails, Letters for New York City, Letters 
for Outgoing Mails — all this was in strong contrast 
to the little three by four box that held all the mail 
of the village at home. 

And the many private boxes ! He guessed there 
must be ten thousand of them. Every second a 
new-comer walked up to open one. 

Presently a familiar figure stepped up to one 
directly in front of Richard, and taking out a hand- 
ful of letters, closed the box and turned to go 
away. 

It was Mr. Timothy Joyce. 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


93 


CHAPTER XI. 

ROBBED. 

Richard was highly delighted to see his fellow 
passenger once again, and running up he grasped 
the gentleman by the shoulder. 

“ Mr. Joyce ! ” 

“ Why, hello ! Where did you come from ? ” ex- 
claimed the leather merchant, thrusting the letters 
into his pocket and taking hold of the boy’s ex- 
tended hand, “ I hope you weren’t hurt.” 

“No, sir,” replied Richard, “only shaken up. I 
trust you were as fortunate.” 

“ Not quite. My foot was caught under the seat 
and was wrenched pretty badly, so much so that I 
had a man take me half a mile in a wheelbarrow to 
a doctor’s.” 

“I looked all over for you,” continued the boy. 
“ I saved your valise and wanted to return it.” 

And Richard related the particulars of his adven- 
tures. 

“Humph ! those railroad chaps are too particular 


94 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


in some cases and not half enough so in others,” 
declared Mr. Joyce. “ What is in the bag doesn’t 
amount to much, but I’m much obliged to you for 
taking the trouble to save it. I’ll send for it this 
afternoon.” 

“ And here is your guide-book,” went on Richard, 
handing out the volume. “I’m thankful for the 
use of it. It’s been a real help to me.” 

‘ ‘ Better keep it then, ” replied the merchant. ‘ 4 I’ll 
make you a present of it.” He laughed, presum- 
ably at the smallness of the gift. 

“Thank you.” 

“Have you had any luck yet in your search for 
work ? ” 

“No, sir. I could have had a job at several 
places, hut the pay was so small I couldn’t afford to 
accept any of them.” 

“Yes, that’s the trouble. Good openings are 
scarce, and very often one must be known to get a 
place.” 

“ And some want security,” added the boy, relat- 
ing his interview with the tea-merchant. 

“Don’t have anything to do with that class of 
men,” exclaimed Mr. Joyce emphatically. “They 
won’t give you a cent more than they are forced to, 
and advancement in their service is out of the 
question.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


95 


“It didn’t strike me very favorably.” 

“ I am sorry that you are not better acquainted 
with city ways. You may have to pay dearly for 
your experience, though I hope not.” 

“ I’m going to keep my eyes open as widely as I 
can, sir.” 

“You’ll have to.” Mr. Joyce paused for a mo- 
ment. “ Can you come over to my office this after- 
noon, about three o’clock ? ” he asked. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“Maybe I’ll be able to place you. I won’t 
promise, but I’ll do what I can.” 

Eichard’s heart gave a bound. He had taken a 
strong liking to the leather merchant, and the 
hearty manner of the latter, somewhat like that of 
Doc Linyard, was certainly taking. 

“ Thank you, I’ll be on hand,” he replied quickly. 

“ Do ; but remember I make no promises,” re- 
turned Mr. Joyce. “I’m off now. I must answer 
this mail and a pile of other letters that have accu- 
mulated during my absence.” 

In a moment the merchant was lost to sight in 
the crowd. 

“I’m glad that I met him,” thought the boy. 
“It may be the luckiest thing yet. I’m sure if he 
finds an opening for me it will be the right thing to 
take hold of.” 


96 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Under the turn of affairs Richard decided to get 
the sailor’s letters, if there were any, and return to 
the Watch Below at once. It was after one o’clock, 
leaving him about an hour and a half before going 
to the merchant’s place of business. 

“ I must be prompt,” he said to himself. “ It will 
count, I’m sure.” 

Watching his chance among the score of street 
cars which pass the post-office corner every minute, 
the hoy dived through the crowd and reached the 
opposite side of Park Row. 

The newspaper office was but a few steps away, 
and in a second he was inside. 

_ Quite a number of people were in the counting- 
room. They were mostly of the poorer class, and 
were either looking over the want columns of the 
papers on file or else waiting for answers to adver- 
tisements which they had inserted. 

Richard joined the line of the latter, and in due 
turn found himself at the window, slip in hand. 

The clerk glanced at the slip and then looked over 
some letters in a certain box. 

“ Here you are,” he said, and handed back the 
slip, accompanied by two letters. 

u Two answers ! ” exclaimed Richard as he moved 
away. “ Doc Linyard is certainly in luck. I must 
hurry back. He will be anxious, I know.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


97 


Bichard put the slip in his vest-pocket. In doing 
so he pulled out two one dollar hills which he had 
taken from his valise in the morning, and folded 
the paper and money together. 

As he shoved the roll into his pocket he did not 
notice that a hungry pair of eyes, just outside of 
the swinging glass doors, were watching his every 
action. 

The hungry pair of eyes belonged to a boy of 
twelve, though he looked older — a street urchin — 
dirty, ragged, with a pinched face and a starved, ill- 
clad form. A look of sheer desperation came into 
these eyes when their owner saw the money, and he 
trembled with excitement as a certain hold and 
wicked thought came into his mind— a thought 
born, not of a bad heart, but of — an empty stomach. 

As Kichard came out of the door the street boy 
shoved against him. The doors were heavy, and 
for an instant Bichard found his way blocked. He 
pushed back the opposite door, and attempted to 
pass. 

“Say, mister, dere’s a big bug on your collar !” 
exclaimed the urchin, pointing to Bichard’s 
neck. 

Now, as I’m sure every one knows, to merely 
have such a thing mentioned is to feel the insect in 
question. Such was the case with Bichard, and 


98 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


still holding the door with one hand he put the 
other up to his neck. 

This was the would-be thief’s chance. With a 
dexterity worthy of a better cause the urchin trans- 
ferred the slip, money and letters to his own 
pocket. It was done in less than three seconds, and 
then he darted back into the crowd upon the street. 

Of course Eichard found no bug, and he was con- 
siderably perplexed by the urchin’s actions, never 
dreaming of what had really occurred. 

“ I suppose that boy was fooling me,” he thought. 
“ Maybe it’s one of those silly jokes that become all 
the rage every now and then. ” 

Eichard walked to the corner of Ann Street. St. 
Paul’s clock now pointed to ten minutes to two, and 
he had no time to waste. 

“Watch protectors, gents, only ten cents each ! 
May some day save you the loss of a valuable time- 
piece ! Step right up now ; only a dime ! Eegular 
price fifty cents ! ” 

It was a street vender who made this announce- 
ment. He stood upon the curbstone, a small tray 
of his wares suspended from his shoulders. 

“Here’s just what you want, sir,” he said, ad- 
dressing Eichard. 

“Thank you ; but I don’t carry a watch,” was the 
boy’s polite reply. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


99 


“ You will one of these days. Better have one.” 

“ If I need one I’ll call around,” replied Richafd 
briefly. 

The idea of a safeguard caused him to feel in his 
pockets to see that his belongings were still in his 
possession, first in one — another — every one. 

Then he realized what had happened. He had 
been robbed. 


100 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


CHAPTER XII. 

ON THE SEARCH. 

Richard was dismayed and disheartened by 
the discovery which he had just made. He went 
through his clothing a dozen times to convince him- 
self that he was not mistaken — that the slip, money 
and letters were really gone. But it was assuredly 
a fact, and groaning in spirit, he leaned up against 
a post, utterly overcome. 

To tell the truth, however, much as he needed 
money, he did not think of the hills that had been 
taken. His mind ran altogether on Doc Linyard’s 
property. 

“ What will he say when I tell him of it ? ” was 
Richard’s mental comment. “ He won’t want to 
trust me any more. Perhaps those letters were 
worth hundreds of dollars. What a fool I’ve been ! 
I ought to be sent back to Mossvale at once. I’m 
not fit to stay in New York.” 

Then came the thought that possibly he had 
dropped the things, and he hastily retraced his 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


steps, scrutinizing every inch of the way as he 
went. 

But, as we know, such an effort was fruitless, 
and by the time he had reached the newspaper- office 
Richard was convinced that it was a plain case of 
robbery and nothing else. 

“ But when did it happen ? I had the letters when 
I reached the street — hold up ; that hoy. I’m sure 
he’s the one!” he exclaimed to himself. “I re- 
member now feeling something at my pocket when 
I put my hand up to my collar. That hug business 
was only a ruse ! Well, I am a fool ! And after 
all Mr. Joyce and Doc Linyard told me, too ! ” 

The thought of how he had been taken in made 
Richard fairly sick, and the tears of vexation 
sprang into his eyes as he stood deliberating upon 
what to do next. 

Just then a burly policeman came lounging 
along. Richard touched him on the arm. 

“ I have been robbed,” he said. 

“ Robbed? Where? When?” exclaimed the offi- 
cer, all attention. 

Richard told him all he knew of his case. 

“I think I know the chap,” said the officer. 
“ But I can do nothing now. He is likely a mile 
away by this time.” 

“ Will you watch out for him ? ” asked Richard. 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

“ I don’t care so much for the money as I do for 
the letters.” 

“ Better come over to the station and make a 
complaint. ” 

“Is it far? I’ve got an engagement at three 
o’clock that I don’t want to miss.” 

“Won’t take ten minutes. Come on.” 

At the station Eichard was required to leave his 
full name and address, describe what had been 
stolen, and give a full description of the person he 
suspected was the thief. 

“I can’t give you much hopes of recovery,” said 
the officer in charge. “Dollar bills are very much 
alike, and if the thief finds that he cannot put the 
letters to account he will probably destroy them. 
As to his getting other letters on the strength of 
the stolen slip, you had better go to the office and 
have the delivery stopped.” 

“ Thank you, I will,” replied Eichard. 

He was soon on his way back to Park Eow. 

“Do you remember me ?” he asked of the clerk 
who had previously waited on him. 

“Yes; what is it? Anything wrong with your 
letters ? ” 

Eichard told his story. 

“Will you hold the letters ? ” he added. 

“Certainly. And if there is a call for them, I’ll 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


103 


send out for an officer and have the party de- 
tained.” 

When Richard was again on the street he hardly 
knew what to do. He had no appetite for dinner, 
and there seemed now no use of returning to the 
Watch Below. 

He had a fancy that the urchin who had robbed 
him had run across into the post-office. True, it 
was only a fancy, but Richard had some time to 
spare yet before he was due at Mr. Joyce’s office, 
and he determined to take a walk in that di- 
rection. 

Going through the post-office he walked over to 
Warren Street and thence down to College Place. 
There was a coffee-stand upon the corner, and here 
he bought two doughnuts for a cent each, and 
began munching them, noticing at the same time 
that they were not of the best, being dry, and that 
the flavor wasn’t to be compared to that of those 
Grace was in the habit of turning out at home. 

Under the Elevated Road it was not as light as 
could be wished, and Richard could not see very 
well. But presently he beheld a figure at the end 
of the block — a figure that looked familiar. 

Richard quickened his pace and soon reached the 
spot, yet only in time to see the figure turn the 
next corner. But this time his view had been 


104 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


better, and Bichard was tolerably certain that it 
was the thief he was pursuing. 

He broke into a run instantly, and being light of 
foot, gained rapidly upon the boy. 

A glance around the next corner, and Richard 
just caught a glimpse of the urchin’s head as it dis- 
appeared down a cellar way. Rushing to the spot, 
he was compelled to pause. He was far down on a 
side street that was little better than an alley- way. 
The building before him was dirty and old, evi- 
dently a storehouse, and the open stone steps led 
down to a steep cellar from which not a ray of 
light came up. 

Should he enter ? For an instant Richard paused, 
and then slowly descended. 

“ They shall not say that I was a coward,” he 
said to himself. “And I can easily handle that 
chap if it comes to a hand to hand affair.” 

The moldy smell of the cellar was nearly unbear- 
able, and in several spots upon the brick floor the 
scum lay an inch deep. Presently the boy’s eyes 
became accustomed to the darkness, and then he 
saw it was not so gloomy, after all. 

At the back there appeared to be several win- 
dows, and, though covered with dust and cobwebs, 
they still admitted some light. The place was 
packed with wooden cases and barrels, and Richard 



The next Instant He had disappeared through the Hole. 




OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


105 


had not a little difficulty in picking his way among 
them. 

Evidently the street Arab had not calculated 
upon being followed into such a place, for Rich- 
ard heard him boldly making his way to the 
rear. 

He hurried after the urchin, making as little 
noise as possible. But unfortunately his foot at 
that moment struck against an empty case, and 
made known his presence. 

Instantly the street boy realized the situation, and 
diving behind a pile of barrels, remained perfectly 
quiet. 

Richard’s blood was now up, and he did not in- 
tend to be outwitted. He hurried to the spot, in his 
eagerness nearly stumbling over the boy. 

But the latter was alert. Visions of the Tombs 
probably floated through his mind ; and tripping 
Richard over he sprang away. 

Richard was on his feet in a second, but it 
was too late. In that second, the street Arab 
had sprung to the top of a pile of cases that 
stood directly under an opening in the floor 
above. 

The next instant he had disappeared through the 
hole, and was gone. 

But in mounting the stack of cases he had dis- 


106 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


lodged several and these now tumbled down, mak- 
ing a lively racket. The noise was followed by 
several exclamations, and the sound of hasty feet 
upon a stairway. 

“ Hey, you, vat you do here ? ” cried a voice ; and 
Richard felt his arm grasped by a tall and savage 
looking German workman. 


OR, STRIKING OUT TOR HIMSELF. 


107 


CHAPTER XIII. 

RICHARD CALLS ON MR. JOYCE. 

As the hand of the German workman grasped 
Richard’s arm the hoy realized that he was in an 
awkward fix. Appearances were all against him, 
and as the man glared at him Richard knew not 
what to say. 

“ Come now, vat vas you doing here, hey?” 
demanded the German. 

“ I — I was after a boy who stole something from 
me,” stammered Richard. 

“ After a poy ?” 

u Yes. He ran down here, and I came after him.” 

“ Ton’t believe it. Yere ist der poy now ? ” 

“ He jumped up there and got through that hole,” 
replied Richard, pointing to the place. 

The German uttered an exclamation. 

u Dat’s nonsense ! ” 

“ It’s true. He stole two dollars and some let- 
ters, and I chased him in here.” 

The man eyed Richard suspiciously. 


108 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“Maype dot vas only a make-believe sthory ; I 
don’t know,” he declared. “Come, ve go upstairs 
und see.” 

But, as Richard surmised, the boy had, by some 
means, already made his escape. But the marks of 
his muddy feet, as he had crawled from the hatch- 
way, were still to be seen, and these Richard pointed 
out. 

“ Yell, if your sthory is straight dat lafer ain’t here 
now ; so you go about your beesness.” And with a 
wave of his arm the stalwart workman motioned for 
Richard to clear out. 

The boy was not loth to leave the place. Nothing 
was to be gained by remaining, and the German’s 
company was certainly not desirable. 

“I suppose I might as well give up the search 
now, ” said Richard to himself when outside. ‘ ‘ That 
fellow will know enough to keep out of my sight 
for a while ; and, besides, it must be time to go to 
Mr. Joyce’s. Gracious, how starved that chap did 
look ! If he wants that money to get something to 
eat with I’m sure he’s welcome to it, only I want 
the letters.” 

Richard brushed off his clothes as best he could 
and started off. By the use of the guide-book he 
had no difficulty in finding the Swamp, as the 
leather district in New York is called. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


109 


Presently he came to a big warehouse, with an 
office at one side, over which hung the sign : 

TIMOTHY JOYCE, 

Successor to 
Joyce Brothers. 

LEATHER AND HIDES. 

Established 1837. 

“ It’s certainly an old firm,” thought Richard, as 
he read the words. “I guess Mr. Joyce is a pretty 
substantial business man.” 

The boy found the leather merchant at his desk, 
deep in his letters. 

“ Ah ! on hand I see,” said Mr. Joyce. “ I’m not 
quite ready yet ; will be in a quarter of an hour.” 

“I won’t mind waiting,” returned Richard. 

“ Suppose you take a look around the place? I 
guess you’ve never seen anything like this before.” 

“No, sir : and I’ll look around gladly.” 

Richard stepped from the office to the lower floor 
of the warehouse. The quantity of leather and 
hides on all sides filled him with wonder. 

The place was several stories high, and was filled 
to overflowing with material soon to be worked up 
into shoes, pocketbooks, belting, gloves, baseball 
covers, and a thousand other articles for which this 


110 


BICHABD D abe’s ventuee ; 


staple material of trade is needed. Several heavy 
trucks were loading and unloading at the doors, 
and the hoy heard the workmen speak of a con- 
signment to Buffalo, and another to Boston, and 
of a shipload that had just arrived from South 
America. 

“ It’s a big business and no mistake,” was Rich- 
ard’s conclusion. “ I guess a person would have 
to be here half a lifetime to learn all the ins and 
outs of it.” 

When Richard returned to the office he found 
that Mr. Joyce had just cleared his desk, and was 
leaning back in his chair. 

The leather merchant motioned him to a seat. 

“ Well, what do you think of it?” he asked 
abruptly. 

“ You seem to be doing a big business,” returned 
Richard. “ I think you must have enough leather 
to supply all New York.” 

“ So I have — for a short time. But only a small 
part stays in the city. It comes and goes all the 
while. Have you found a place yet ? ” 

“ No, sir ; I haven’t had a chance yet.” And 
Richard related the particulars of his recent mis- 
fortune. 

“ Humph ! Well, after all, experience is the 
only school we all learn in. I don’t doubt but what 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


Ill 


you’ve seen the last of both money and letters. 
Keep your eyes open in the future.” 

“ I’ll try to. I shall not forget this lesson in a 
hurry.” 

“ But at the same time don’t be too suspicious 
of everybody with whom you may chance to come 
in contact.” 

“ I’ll remember what you say, sir.” 

“ Now about finding you a situation. I wish I 
had an opening here for you. I’d make a business 
chap of you.” 

“ I should like to work for you, Mr. Joyce.” 

“ Unfortunately, there is no room at present — 
that is, there is nothing I can offer you.” 

“ I’ll take anything you’ll give me,” exclaimed 
Richard earnestly. 

“ Yes; but you can’t do anything. You can’t 
drive a truck — here in the city — and you don’t 
know a thing about packing hides. Besides, such 
work would be altogether too heavy for you, and it 
never pays the wages that lighter but more intel- 
ligent labor receives.” 

‘‘ I suppose you are right, sir.” 

“ I am. I don’t want to gloss things over for 
you. It’s the worst thing in the world for a young 
fellow just starting out to have a rosy view of the 
business world, which is composed of steady work 


112 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

and hard knocks, about equally mixed. You’ve 
got too much brains to work altogether with your 
hands ; and one must find out what he is best suited 
to. How would you like to get into the book and 
stationery line ? ” 

“ Very much indeed.” 

“ Do you think you could make anything out of 
it ? Make it the business of your life, so that you 
would stand some show of advancement on the 
strength of the interest you took in it ? ” 

“ I think I could,” replied Richard slowly, some- 
how deeply moved by Mr. Joyce’s earnestness. “ I 
always liked hooks — not only to read them, hut to 
handle and to arrange them as well. At home I 
was the librarian of our Sunday-school, and I got 
out the catalogue and all that. Of course it was 
not a great work, but I enjoyed it, and often 
wished I might have charge of a big library or 
something like that. ” 

Mr. Joyce eyed the boy thoughtfully. 

“ Reckon I was right. Thought you’d take to 
books. Persons with your kind of a forehead al- 
ways do. Well, come along. I’ll see what I can 
do toward getting you a place with a friend of 
mine.” 

Locking up his desk, Mr. Joyce put on his hat 
and led the way out on the street. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


113 


“ We’ll have to hurry,” he said, “or we’ll find 
my friend has gone home.” 

Richard needed no urging. With a strangely 
light heart he kept close behind the leather mer- 
chant. 

They passed along several blocks, and at length 
turned into Beekman Street. 

“ Here we are,” said Mr. Joyce, finally. “ This 
is my friend’s place of business.” 

8 


114 


BICHABD D ABE’S VENTUBE : 


CHAPTER XIV. 

WORK OBTAINED. 

The establishment to which the leather merchant 
had brought Richard was an imposing one, situated 
in a massive stone building, and having large and 
heavy plate glass doors and windows. A formid- 
able array of blank-books and sets of well-known 
authors’ works were piled up in the window which 
bore the firm’s name : 

Williams & Mann. 

Directly to the left of the entrance inside, stood 
a great safe, and further on appeared an almost 
interminable row of shelves and drawers, all ap- 
parently crammed with articles pertaining to the 
stationery and book trade. 

Stepping up to a salesman Mr. Joyce inquired : 

“ Is Mr. Williams in ? ” 

“ Mr. Williams has gone to Chicago,” was the 
polite reply. 

“ Chicago, eh ? When will he be back ? ” 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


115 


“ We expect him back day after to-morrow ; pos- 
sibly to-morrow afternoon. ” 

“ Humph ! ” Mr. Joyce rubbed his chin. “ Is 
Mr. Mann about ? ” 

“ Yes, sir ; just gone up to the stock-room.” 

“ Tell him I’d like to see him for a few min- 
utes.” 

“ Yes, sir. Mr. Joyce, I believe.” 

“ That’s the name.” 

“ I’ll send word at once. Won’t you sit down ?” 

“ Thanks.” 

Mr. Joyce sank into an office chair. 

Going to a speaking tube behind one of the broad 
counters, the salesman sent his message up to one 
of the floors above. 

“Mr. Mann will he down directly,” he said, after 
a moment. 

In five minutes a stout, bald-headed gentleman of 
fifty came down by the elevator at one side, and 
stepped forward. 

“ How are you, Tim?” he exclaimed, thrusting 
out a chubby hand. 

“ First rate, Mel,” returned Mr. Joyce. “ This 
is a young friend of mine, Richard Dare,” he con- 
tinued. 

Mr. Mann shook hands cordially. 

“ He has come to the city to try his luck,” went 


116 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


on the leather merchant. “ He has a taste for 
your line, so I brought him around to see if you 
hadn’t an opening for him.” 

Now an application made in this way, and com- 
ing from an ordinary source, would have met with 
a courteous negative. But the firm of Williams & 
Mann were under obligations to Mr. Joyce, who 
had on several occasions indorsed their notes for 
many thousands of dollars. Besides, all three men 
were old friends ; so Mr. Mann gave the request 
every attention. 

“We are rather full of hands,” he said slowly ; 
“ but still I might find room for him. Have you 
had any business training ? ” he continued, turning 
to Richard. 

“ Very little, sir,” replied the boy promptly, 
though it came hard to make such a confession. 

“ He hasn’t had a bit,” interposed Mr. Joyce. 
“ He’s as jolly green as we were when we came 
here,” he added in a whisper. “ But he’s bright, 
honest and level-headed, and I’ve taken a fancy to 
him and want you to give him a chance.” 

“ Do you like to handle books ?” asked Mr. Mann. 

“ Yes, sir ; very much.” 

“ Yes, it’s just what he does like,” put in the 
leather merchant. “ Place him among the books if 
you can.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


117 


“ Perhaps I can do that ; hnt I won’t be able to 
pay you much until you are experienced.” 

“ I must earn my living, sir,” said Richard re- 
spectfully, but in a firm manner. 

“Of course he must,” added Mr. Joyce. “He 
has just lost his father,” he continued in alow tone, 
“ and I suppose it’s hard times at home.” 

“ Have you known him long ? ” asked Mr. Mann, 
as the two walked to one side. 

“ Only two days.” 

“Two days ! ” 

“Yes.” 

“Is he — that is, suppose I put him in a place of 
trust ? It will be a risk that ” 

“I’ll go security for him.” 

“ And you have only known him two days, Tim ? 
Seems to me you’re not as cautious as you used 
to he.” 

“ Never mind. I know some honest faces when I 
see them, and his is one. Let me tell you how we 
became acquainted.” 

The two men continued their conversation for 
several minutes. 

“I’ll take you on at once,” said Mr. Mann, 
presently to Richard. “I suppose you would like 
that best.” 


118 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ You can have the hour remaining to-day to get 
broken in. I will give you six dollars a week at the 
start, and if you learn as rapidly as Mr. Joyce 
thinks you will I’ll raise you in a few weeks to seven 
or eight.” 

“ Thank you, sir ; I’ll try to make myself worth 
it.” 

“ It’s hard work, and you will have to pitch right 
in,” Mr. Mann went on. “We have no use for 
laggards.” 

“Well, I’m going,” broke in Mr. Joyce. “Now 
I’ve placed you I hope you will make something of 
yourself,” he added. 

“I’ll try to,” replied the boy. “Many thanks to 
you for your kindness.” 

“If you come down in my neighborhood drop in 
and see me.” 

“ Thank you, I will with pleasure, ” was Richard’s 
reply. 

“We will go right upstairs to the stock-room,” 
said Mr. Mann, after Mr. Joyce had departed. 
“We have a large pile of pamphlets and books 
which the clerk we discharged left all mixed up. I 
was just assisting the stock-clerk in making out a 
new division of the department.” 

Entering the elevator, they were soon taken to a 
floor three stories above. The stock-room was 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


119 


in the rear, the large windows overlooking an 
alley. 

The place was piled high with books of all descrip- 
tions, some in sets and others separate, from cheap 
reprints to costly volumes filled with etchings and 
engravings. 

“ Here, Mr. Massanet, I’ve brought a young man 
to help you,” said Mr. Mann, addressing the clerk 
in charge, a pleasant-looking fellow apparently not 
many years older than Richard. 

He came forward and gave the boy a kindly look 
of welcome. 

“We need help here,” he said. “ There is plenty 
to do.” 

“His name is Dare — Richard Dare,” continued 
Mr. Mann. “ I do not know him, but a friend 
recommended him.” 

“*JYe’ll soon see what he can do,” replied Frank 
Massanet, with a smile. “ Are you going to work 
now ? ” he asked of Richard. 

“Yes; break him in at once,” said Mr. Mann. 
“I’ll leave him in your charge. Mr. Massanet will 
tell you anything you want to know,” he went on 
to the boy. “ He is the head here.” 

Left alone with Frank Massanet it did not take 
long for Richard to become well acquainted with 
the stock-clerk, who gave him a few brief directions 


120 


BICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


and then set him to work filling up broken sets of 
books, dusting them, and placing them in a case 
for shipment. 

“ We must get this whole batch away by next 
Tuesday, ” said Massanet. ‘ ‘ Because on W ednesday 
another large consignment will arrive, and we must 
have room to handle it.” 

The work delighted Richard, and he pitched in 
with a will. It was new and novel, as well as 
agreeable, and, besides, doing it for pay made it no 
task at all. 

Talking did not interfere with the progress of 
either of the workers, and attracted by Frank Mas- 
sanet’s cordial manner, Richard gradually revealed 
to the stock-clerk why he had come to the city, and 
what his ambitions were. 

In return Frank related much concerning him- 
self. His father, who had been a Frenchman, *was 
dead, and his mother, sister Martha and himself 
kept house up-town on the east side. It was ap- 
parent that the young man was the main support 
of the family, for he said that just previous to his 
death his father had been unfortunate in business 
and had lost nearly every dollar he possessed. His 
mother did the work at home, while his sister earned 
six dollars a week at typewriting. 

“It is pleasant to have a home to go to,” said 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 121 

Richard, after a bit. “ You don’t know how queer 
I felt to be away from the others.” 

“ Homesick ? ” asked Frank kindly ; and then im- 
pelled by a sudden warm feeling he placed his hand 
on Richard’s shoulder. The action, small as it was, 
brought a little lump to the hoy’s throat. 

“No — not exactly,” he replied, “only ” 

“I know what you mean. Before I got this 
place I went to Boston for two months to try my 
luck, and I was among strangers. ” 

“Some day, when I can afford it, I intend to 
bring my folks to the city,” Richard went on. 

“ Where are you stopping now ?” asked Frank. 

“With a sailor friend of mine down on West 
Street. ” 

“West Street ! It is not a very nice locality.” 

“No; but he is very kind, and so is his wife. 
They keep a restaurant. He was in a . railroad 
accident with me, and that’s the reason he takes to 
me.” 

“Yes, accidents often make strange people 
friends. ” 

“But I must hunt up a regular boarding-house,” 
went on Richard. “I suppose a good one that is 
cheap is hard to find.” 

“You are right. How much do you expect to 
pay, if I may ask ? ” 


122 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Not over four dollars. I’m to get six here, and 
I can’t afford any more. When my salary is 
raised I’ll be willing to go a little more, but not 
much, because I want to send home all the money I 
can.” 

Frank Massanet was silent for a moment. Rich- 
ard’s way pleased him, and he felt drawn towards 
the new-comer. 

“My mother has been thinking of taking a 
hoarder,” he said slowly. “We have a spare hall 
bedroom. It is not very large, but it has good 
ventilation, and is neatly furnished. I used it 
when — when my father was alive.” 

“ Would your mother take me ?” asked Richard. 
“That is, could she afford to at four dollars a 
week ? ” 

“ I can’t say.” 

“ When I get an increase in wages I’ll pay four 
and a half,” went on the boy. “I would like to 
live with you, ” he continued open-heartedly . 

Frank smiled. 

“I’ll speak to my mother to-night,” said he, 
“ and I’ll let you know to-morrow morning.” 


OH, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


123 


CHAPTER XV. 

NEW QUARTERS. 

At six o’clock Frank Massanet announced the 
day’s work ended, and, bidding his friend good- 
night, Richard hurried off to West Street. His 
heart was light over his own good fortune, but 
heavy when he thought of the losses he had sus- 
tained earlier in the day. 

The Watch Below was crowded, and Doc Linyard 
presided at the pie-stand and the desk. He noticed 
Richard’s grave face, and surmised that all was not 
right. 

“ You’re late ! ” he exclaimed. “ Come sit down 
to supper. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten a mouthful.” 

.“I’ve had bad luck,” replied Richard. “Bad 
luck for you and good luck for myself.” 

And, sitting down beside the desk, he made a 
clean breast of what had transpired earlier in the 
day. 

“I know I have been careless,” he added, “ and I 
don’t deserve to be trusted any more.” 


124 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Never mind,” returned the old sailor cheerily. 
“It’s too bad, hut, as Betty often says, it’s no use 
crying over spilt milk, so we’ll make the best of 
it.” 

“I’ll have the advertisement put in to-morrow,” 
said the hoy, “and I’ll add that former letters have 
been lost.” 

“That’s a good idea. And don’t tell Betty; it 
would only worry her. Who knows hut what those 
letters didn’t amount to much after all ? ” 

“At all events, I’m going to get them back if I 
can.” 

“And your two dollars, too. The little rascal ! 
But you said you had good news ? ” 

“ So I have. Mr. Joyce got me a place.” 

And Bichard told of the meeting in the post- 
office, and his subsequent engagement by Williams 
& Mann. 

“ Well, I’m downright glad to hear that ! ” cried 
Doc Linyard heartily. “Beckon you are on the 
right tack at last. ” 

The walking and working had made Bichard 
hungry, and he was not backward about sitting 
down and eating a hearty supper. But he insisted 
upon paying for all he had, and, seeing that the boy 
really meant it, Doc Linyard took the money, 
though not without reluctance. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


125 


As soon as he had finished eating, Bichard went 
to Park Bow and handed in the advertisement. 
The clerk informed him that no other letters had 
been received, nor had any applications for them 
been made. 

Beturning to the Watch Below, Bichard sat down 
and wrote a second letter home, which he shortly 
after posted, along with the precious packet of 
chewing gum for Madge. The old sailor offered 
him a ticket to the theater, which had been left in 
the restaurant for the privilege of hanging a litho- 
graph in the window, but this the boy declined with 
thanks, and retired early, so as to be on hand 
promptly in the morning. 

Seven o’clock was the hour for opening at Will- 
iams & Mann’s, and five minutes before that time 
Bichard presented himself, and was let in by the 
sleepy porter. The elevator was not running at 
this time in the day, so Bichard took the narrow 
iron stairs, and was soon in the stock-room, where 
he went to work at what he had been doing the 
previous day until Frank Massanet arrived. , 

“My mother would like you to take dinner with 
us,” said Frank, when he had given directions con- 
cerning how the work should go on. “She would 
like to know you before she takes you as a regular 
boarder.” 


126 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“Can she take me at four dollars?” asked 
Eichard. 

“ She thinks she can. You can talk it over to- 
gether when you see her — that is, if you will 
come.” 

“ Certainly I will.” 

“ It’s the best way. Perhaps our board might 
not suit you.” 

“I’ll risk it,” laughed Richard. 

They were allowed an hour at noon, and at ex- 
actly twelve o’clock the two hurried off. Frank 
led the way up to the Third Avenue Elevated Sta- 
tion, and a five minutes’ ride brought them to their 
destination. 

“ I generally bring my lunch with me,” explained 
the stock-clerk on the way, “and I have dinner 
when I get home in the evening. By that means I 
save my car fare, and have plenty of time to eat the 
best meal of the day.” 

“It’s the better way,” said Eichard. “Do you 
ride morning and night ? ” 

“Only when the weather is bad. When it is 
clear I save the ten cents.” 

“So would I. Besides, it’s healthy exercise,” re- 
turned the boy. 

The Massanets occupied the second floor of a 
modest little flat of six rooms. It was a cheerful 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


127 


home, and Mrs. Massanet, a pleasant, middle-aged 
Frenchwoman, greeted Richard cordially. 

“ You are indeed welcome, Mistair Dare,” she 
said, with a beaming face. “ Francois have tole me 
everything of you, and I feel as eef I know you 
long.” 

Mrs. Massanet had the peculiar French accent of 
the province of Lorraine, and Richard frequently 
experienced difficulty in understanding her, hut her 
motherly way soon put him at ease, and in a few 
minutes he felt perfectly at home. 

“This is my sister,” said Frank, as a tall, dark- 
eyed girl of sixteen entered. “Mattie, this is 
Richard Dare.” 

“Frank has been telling us of you,” said Mattie 
Massanet, as she took Richard’s hand. “We talked 
you all over last night,” she added, with a merry 
twinkle of her eye. 

“ I’m sure it couldn’t have been a very bad talk if 
you had a hand in it,” said Richard gallantly. 

They were soon at the table, and having by a 
lucky chance (or was it the girl’s natural tact ?) 
struck the right vein, the conversation became 
quite animated, and soon all were on very good 
terms. 

“ I like you verra mouch,” said Mrs. Massanet, 
when Richard ha d finished, “and I shall be 


128 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

pleased to have you as a boarder — eef you like ze 
diner ” 

“ Thank you, Mrs. Massanet. I shall be thankful 
to have you take me. I know it will feel quite like 
a home.” 

“Ve make zat so. Ve keep no hotel garni even 
— only for one.” 

“ Thank you,” returned Richard. He did not 
understand the French, which means a lodging- 
house. “ Can I come to-night ? ” 

“ Oh, yees.” 

So it was arranged that he should become a 
hoarder at the Massanets’, and having this settled 
took quite a load from his mind. Now if he could 
only do his work well for Williams Sc Mann, he 
would he all right, and have every chance of event- 
ually attaining the object of his metropolitan 
venture. 

Of one thing he was sure — Frank Massanet’s 
friendship and help, and in his present place he 
knew these would count for a good deal. 

Little did he dream that the position kind-hearted 
Timothy Joyce had procured for him would lead him 
to the hardest trials of his youthful life, and place 
him in the bitterest situation he had ever yet 
experienced. 


OK, STKIKING OUT If OK HIMSELF. 


129 


CHAPTER XVI. 

PEP. 

In a week Richard felt quite at home, both in the 
stock-room at Williams & Mann’s and at the Mas- 
sanets’. 

During that time Mr. Williams had returned 
from Chicago, and both of the members of the firm 
seemed to be well satisfied by the way in which 
their new clerk discharged the duties assigned to 
him. 

A warm friendship sprang up between Frank 
Massanet and Richard — a friendship that was des- 
tined to bear important results. The stock- clerk, 
though Richard’s superior in the business, acted 
more like a chum, and in the evenings the two, ac- 
companied by Mattie Massanet, walked, talked, 
played games, or listened to Mrs. Massanet’s music 
on the flutina, and were all but inseparable. 

Richard received several letters from home — one 
from his mother, congratulating him on the position 
he had secured, and another from Grace and Nancy, 


180 BICHAED dabe’s ventube ; 

full of village gossip, and what people had said 
about his going away. 

Both Frank and Bichard loved their work, and 
by the second week the books in the stock-room 
were in a neater and handier condition than they 
had ever been before, and Frank expressed his pleas- 
ure at having some one who could really help, 
and not hinder, as the discharged clerk had 
done. 

On Tuesday morning of the second week, Bichard 
was hurrying to the store a little earlier than usual. 
The big consignment of books was soon to arrive, 
and they must have even more room for it than had 
at first been anticipated. 

As he came down the Bowery at a rapid gait, a 
small figure crossed the street directly before him, 
and stopped to gaze into the well-filled window of a 
German bakery. It was the street Arab who had 
robbed Bichard in Park Bow ! 

For an instant Bichard could hardly believe his 
eyes, but, stepping up, he took a closer view, and 
then grasped the urchin by the arm. 

Instinctively the street Arab shrank away. Then 
he turned his pinched and startled face around, and, 
seeing who it was that held him, gave a loud cry of 
alarm. 

“Oh, please, mister, please lemme go!” he 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


131 


pleaded. “ I won’t do it again, please, sir, no I 
won’t ! Oh, don’t lock me up, mister ! ” 

That piteous appeal went straight to Richard’s 
heart. If he had felt any indignation, it melted 
away at the sight of that haggard, famished, des- 
perate look. 

4 ‘ What have you done with the stuff you took 
from my pockets ? ” he asked, but his tones were not 
very harsh. 

The boy began to whimper. 

“ I — I ain’t got de money no more,” he sobbed, 
“ It’s all gone, mister ; I spent every cent of it but 
two nickels fer medicine and de doctor. Please 
don’t lock me up, mister.” 

“ Medicine and the doctor?” repeated Richard, 
rather astonished by this unexpected statement. 
“ Who is sick ? ” 

“ Me dad, mister.” 

“ Your dad ? Your father ? ” 

“Yes, mister; been sick going on two months 
now, and ain’t no better.” 

Richard looked at the boy sharply. He had been 
deceived so many times that he was half inclined to 
discredit the urchin’s story. 

“It’s the truth, mister,” went on the boy, seeing 
the look of distrust. “I ain’t tellin’ no lies, so 
help ” 


132 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ What’s your name ? ” 

“Pep, sir.” 

“ Pep what ? ” 

The urchin held down his head. 

“I ain’t got no other name ! ” he answered hesi- 
tatingly. 

“ Oh, you must have ! ” exclaimed Richard. 
“Come, out with it.” 

But the little ragged figure only began to cry 
again, harder than ever. 

“Come, tell me; I won’t have you arrested,” 
urged Richard. 

“Oh, thank you, mister ! It would kill dad to 
know I’d been stealin’. I told him I made the 
money sellin’ papers. ” 

“ That was a lie,” said Richard sternly. 

“ I know it, mister, but I couldn’t help it. It was 
better than tellin’ him I’d been stealin’. I wouldn’t 
have taken yer money only I was afraid he’d die 
if he didn’t have de doctor and de medicine, so 
help ” 

“ There, don’t swear,” interrupted Richard. “ If 
you were so hard up you should have asked me for 
help. I would have given you something.” 

“I would have asked, only most of de people 
laughs at me and tells me to clear out, and they 
think I’m lyin’ when I say dad’s sick, and say they 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


133 


guess he must drink de money up, which is a lie 
itself, ’cause dad don’t drink a drop ; he’s got pneu- 
mony, so de doctor says, and he’s coughin’ all de 
time.” 

“ Is your mother home ? ” 

“ Ain’t got no mother ; she died when I was a kid.” 

‘ ‘ Well, Pep, I’m sorry for you,” said Richard 
kindly, “and I won’t do anything to you for having 
taken that money. But those letters — they were 
valuable. What have you done with them ? ” 

“I’ve got ’em home, sir. I’ll bring ’em to you 
right away, sir.” 

“I haven’t got time to wait now,” returned Rich- 
ard, highly elated to find that Doc Linyard’s prop- 
erty was safe. “Will you meet me here at six 
o’clock to-night ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Sure ? Remember I must have those letters.” 

“I’ll bring ’em. I’ve got ’em hid in de garret. 
I didn’t open ’em or noddin’. I can’t read only a 
little newspaper print — ’nough to find out what’s in 
de paper ter sell it.” 

“Well, I shall expect you sure,” replied Richard. 
“I’ll give you ten cents for bringing them,” he 
added, to make certain that Pep would not change 
him mind. “ Have you had any breakfast ? ” 

“ I haven’t had no eatin’ since yesterday mornin’.” 


134 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“What would you do if I gave you ten cents?” 

Pep’s eyes opened in wonder. In his knockabout 
life he had met all sorts of people, yet here was cer- 
tainly a new kind. 

“ Yer jokin’ ! ” he gasped. 

“No, I’m not.” 

“Then if I had ten cents I’d go and buy some 
morning papers — I could sell ’em yet — and take de 
money home.” 

“All of it?” 

“Yes, sir. Every cent.” 

Richard felt in his pocket. He had just sixteen 
cents in change. 

“ Here is the ten cents,” he said, handing it out. 
“ And here is six cents. I want you to buy some- 
thing to eat for that.” 

Slowly Pep took the money. He did not know 
hut he might be dreaming. 

“Thank you, mister, you — you’re good to me,” 
he said in a low tone. 

“ I’m in a hurry now,” went on Richard, “other- 
wise I’d talk to you some more. I want to find out 
how you get along and how your father makes out. 
You can trust me.” 

“I know I can — now,” replied Pep. “ And I’ll be 
on hand at six o’clock with those letters sure. I’m 
very, very thankful fer what you’ve done, indeed I 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


135 


am, and I’ll try to make it up to you some day, see 
if I don’t.” 

“Anyway, don’t steal any more,” said Richard. 
“ It isn’t right, and it will land you in jail sooner or 
later.” 

“ I never took noddin’ before,” replied Pep, “ and 
I won’t ag’in.” 

“ I hope so, Pep.” 

“Will yer please tell me yer name ? ” 

“ Richard Dare,” 

“ I’ll remember it, Mr. Dare ; ye’re the first 
gentleman ever noticed me, and I’m much obliged, 
even if you hadn’t given me a cent.” 

“ I shall expect to see you at six o’clock or a few 
minutes later, ” was Richard’s reply, and fearful of 
being late at the store he hurried off. 

The street urchin stood still, gazing after him. 
There were tears in the light blue eyes, and a chok- 
ing sensation in the thin little throat. 

“He must be one of them missionaries I once 
heard tell of,” was Pep’s thought. “ They said they 
went around doing good, and that’s what he’s doing. 
Six cents for something to eat, and a dime to buy 
papers with ! That’s the best luck I’ve had in five 
years. If I don’t make a quarter by nine o’clock 
I’m no good. And I’ll never steal again — I won’t— 
as sure as my name is Pep Clover.” 


136 


lilUHAiiD DAKE’S VENTUiiE ; 


CHAPTER XVII. 

GETTING ACQUAINTED. 

When Richard reached Williams & Mann’s he 
found Frank Massanet already hard at work. He 
had told the stock-clerk of the robbery in Park Row, 
and now he related its sequel in the shape of the 
incident of the morning. 

“ Well, maybe you did right,” said Frank ; “ al- 
though the majority of the street boys are not to 
be trusted beyond sight. You will find out by this 
evening if the boy’s word is worth anything. ” 

“ I think I can trust that boy,” replied Richard. 
“I believe he was truly penitent. My treating him 
as I did may be the making of him.” 

Williams Sc Mann employed in their various de- 
partments between fifteen and twenty clerks. They 
were mostly young fellows, and outside of a tendency 
to play practical jokes, because he was a new-comer, 
they treated Richard very well, and the boy was, 
with one exception, on good terms all round. 

This one exception was a young man of twenty. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


137 


His name was Earle Norris, and he was head of the 
shipping department. Richard’s duties brought him 
into daily contact with the shipping-clerk, but 
though the latter treated him fairly well, there was 
something in the other’s manner that he did not like, 
and consequently he did not associate as freely with 
Norris as that young man seemed to desire. 

Norris was something of a dandy in his way, and 
rarely appeared at the store otherwise than fault- 
lessly dressed. Of course when at work he changed 
his coat, cravat, collar, and so forth, so as not to 
soil them, but he never left without looking as 
much “ fixed up ” as when he had arrived. 

“ You’re a new fellow here,” he said to Richard 
when the latter came down to see if a certain box of 
books had as yet been sent away. 

“Yes; new here and new in New York,” Rich- 
ard replied, smiling, 

“I thought you weren’t a New Yorker,” Norris 
went on. “ How do you like things in the city ? ” 

“First-rate. I haven’t seen much of the place 
yet, though.” 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“I hoard with the Massanets.” 

“ Oh, a relative ? ” 

“ Oh, no. I never knew them until I got ac- 
quainted with Frank here.” 


138 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“Rather slow at their house, I imagine.” 

“ Oh, I like it very well.” 

“My folks live in Yonkers,” said Norris, “but I 
couldn’t stand it there, though I had a good position. 
I like New York life. You ought to he over at our 
boarding-house. There are six of us young fellows, 
and we’re out every night and have lots of sport.” 

“ Thank you ; I am very well content where I 
am,” said Richard coldly. He did not like the 
manner in which the shipping-clerk had spoken of 
Frank and his family. 

“I did not think the Massanets kept boarders,” 
continued Norris. “I thought they were too re- 
tired for that.” 

“I am the only one, and am treated like one of 
the family.” 

“Frank has got a sister, hasn’t he ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“Maybe that’s the attraction,” suggested Norris. 
“My landlady has a pretty daughter, too.” 

“It is not the attraction,” said Richard flushing, 
“ though she, like her mother, treats me nicely,” 
he added stoutly, and with a certain amount of 
loyalty. 

“Oh, well, it’s all right,” put in the shipping- 
clerk hastily. “I don’t want you to change if 
you’re satisfied. Only if you get tired of being 


OH, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


139 


quiet let me know. I tell you, there’s lots of fun 
to he had if you only know how to get it.” 

“ I guess I won’t change, at least for the present,” 
replied the boy. 

When he returned to the stock-room he related to 
Frank what Norris had said about keeping too 
quiet. 

“I don’t agree with him,” said the stock-clerk. 
“ I don’t know what he means by having lots of 
sport and all that, but I never believed in being out 
late nights. It isn’t right, and besides it doesn’t 
pay. Haven’t you noticed the deep circles around 
Norris’s eyes ? They come from a want of sleep, 
and how long do you suppose he can stand that sort 
of thing and his work here without breaking down ? 
Why, I remember when he came here, a year ago, 
he looked twice as healthy as he does now.” 

“ Then he is foolish,” said Richard. “ I wouldn’t 
want to run the risk of ruining my health, espe- 
cially needlessly.” 

“ Of course if our way of living is too quiet for 
you — I suppose it would be for most young fellows 
—you are at liberty to leave at any time.” 

“ Thank you, Frank ; I know I can, but I reckon 
I’ll stay just as long as you care to keep me, or at 
least until I can afford to bring the family here. ” 

“ Norris has approached me several times on the 


140 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

subject of joining him in some of his frolics,” went 
on Frank, “ but I have never gone out with him.” 

“ Does he get a very large salary ? ” 

“ No more than I — ten dollars a week.” 

“ I should think it would take every cent he had 
after his board was paid to dress him. His clothing 
is more fashionable than Mr. Mann’s. ” 

“He certainly isn’t saving any money,” replied 
Frank. 

Frank Massanet had his own idea about Earle 
Norris and his peculiar ways. He was almost cer- 
tain that there would some day be a startling 
development at Williams & Mann’s, but, having as 
yet no proofs, he kept quiet concerning his sus- 
picions. 

During the afternoon Richard had occasion again 
to visit the packing-room, and once more Norris, 
who was the only one present, approached him. 

“ How would you like to go to Niblo’s G-arden 
with me to-night ? ” he asked. “ I have two tickets, 
and I would be pleased to have your company. ” 

“I am much obliged, I’m sure, but I have an 
errand to-night,” replied Richard. “ I must deliver 
two letters.” 

“Well, that ought not to take you all the even- 
ing. Come along ; I don’t want to have the extra 
ticket and not use it. A friend of mine from 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOK HIMSELF. 


141 


Brooklyn was going with me, but he has just 
dropped me a postal card saying he is sick.” 

“ Can’t you sell the extra ticket \ ” 

“Oh, I suppose I might ; but I don’t care to go 
alone,” explained Norris. “Come, you’ll enjoy it, 
I know.” 

Bichard was sorely tempted. The play at the 
theater was a standard one, and the leading actor 
one of renown. Surely there wouldn’t be much 
harm in going. 

If any other person than Norris had asked him, 
he would probably have accepted. 

Yet his reasoning on the point was remarkably 
clear. He was sure that there had been nothing in 
his own manner to draw him to Norris, and this 
being so, why did the latter take such an interest 
in one who was but a step removed from a stranger 
to him ? 

“No, I guess not,” he replied, after a pause. “I 
don’t care to go.” 

“Oh, well, don’t then,” replied Norris coldly. “ I 
only asked you out of kindness, being as you were a 
stranger.” * 

And he turned his back on the boy and walked 
away. 

Richard told Frank where he was to meet Pep, 
and added that if the stolen letters were forthcom- 


142 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


in g he would take them to Doc Linyard’s before 
returning to the Massanets’. 

At six o’clock the two quitted the store together 
and walked over to the Bowery. Pep was already 
waiting for Richard. He had a big bundle of even- 
ing papers under his arm, and seemed to have im- 
proved both his capital and his time. 

“ Here’s de letters, mister,” he said, holding out 
the two envelopes and the slip. “Pm sorry I got 
’em dirty.” 

For his unwashed hands had left many marks 
upon the white paper. 

Richard took the letters eagerly, and put them in 
an inside pocket. 

“ How have you done to-day ? ” he asked. 

“ First-rate. Had luck ever since yer started me. 
I’m worth sixty cents now. Say,” he went on in a 
whisper, “I’m going to pay yer back that two dol- 
lars soon as I kin.” 

“And how is your father ? ” 

“He is a bit better to-day — he was awful yester- 
day. Can I see yer here in a few days ? ” 

“Why?” 

“"About that money. I want yer to have it back. 
It’s the first time I took anything.” 

“Yes, you can see me,” replied Richard, some- 
how pleased at the idea of becoming better ac- 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 143 

quainted with the urchin, in whom he found him- 
self taking a strong interest. “ You can generally 
meet me at the same time you’ve met me to-day.” 

“ All right. I’ll have der chink in a few days, see 
if I don’t. Have an Evening Telegram or Mail and 
Express f ” 

“I haven’t any change,” replied Richard. 

“ Ho ! what yer take me for ? ” 

And, thrusting a copy of each paper in Richard’s 
hand, Pep darted across to the Elevated Station, 
crying his wares as he went. 

“ Not such a bad chap, I guess,” said Frank. “I 
have seen worse fellows than him reform. I must 
see if we can’t get him in our mission.” 

“I’ll go right down to West Street with these 
letters,” returned Richard. “They may be very 
important.” 

“ I’m sorry I can’t go with you,” said Frank, “ but 
I’m going out with mother. Will you be long ?” 

“I guess not. Of course I can’t tell. Doc Lin- 
yard may want me to do something for him — write 
a letter or so, and that all takes time. I’ll be back 
by nine, I guess.” 

And with these words the two separated, Frank 
hurrying up town, and Richard to carry his news to 
the old sailor. 


144 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

A STRANGE SITUATION. 

The road to West Street was no longer a strange 
one to Richard, and it took him but a short quarter 
of an hour to reach the Watch Below. 

As usual the restaurant was crowded, and the 
merry jests of the sailors mingled with the rattle of 
dishes and clatter of knives. 

Doc Linyard was glad to see the hoy, and im- 
mediately asked how he was progressing and how 
he liked his position. 

“I have good news for you,” said Richard. 

And he handed over the two letters. 

“ Are they the ones as were lost ?” asked the old 
sailor. 

“ Yes ; I caught the hoy and made him return 
them.” 

“ Did you get your money, too ? ” went on Lin- 
yard, as he cut the envelopes open. 

“Not yet, but I’m pretty sure of getting it in the 
near future.” 


f 



That man has a raging fever. 























































































































































OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 145 

“ Hope you do ; two dollars ain’t much, hut it’s 
something, and nowadays everything counts. Will 
you read these letters for me ? My eyesight ain’t 
none of the best any more, and besides, wiping is 
kinder stiff reading for me at the best.” 

“ Certainly I will, Mr. ” 

“ Avast there on that figurehead!” interrupted 
the old tar. 

“ Doc Linyard, I’ll do it with pleasure.” 

But it was no pleasure after all for Richard to 
read the two communications, for each was a dis- 
appointment. 

The first was from a firm of lawyers who wished 
to take the case in hand at “ astonishingly low 
terms,” which must, however, he paid in advance. 
The other had been sent by a private detective, who 
was willing to institute a search for the missing 
party for the modest sum of three dollars per day, 
also payable in advance. 

“ Just what I thought they might be,” observed 
Doc Linyard, when the reading was finished. “ You 
can tear them up. We don’t want such outside 
help.” 

Richard did as directed. 

“It’s a pity that such letters should cause you so 
much trouble,” went on the old sailor ; “but that’s 

the way of the world.” 

10 J 


146 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Have you had any other letters ? ” asked Rich- 
ard, for he had not seen Doc Linyard for several 
days, and thought it possible that something might 
have turned up in the meantime. 

“Nary a word. I’ve put the advertisement in 
the papers — three of ’em — twice now, and not a 
single answer. ” 

“ It’s too bad. Have you heard anything from 
the property in England ? ” 

“ Yes ; I got a letter to-day asking me to hurry, 
as they wanted to settle affairs up there. ” 

“Did you answer ?” 

“Not yet. You know it’s hard lines for me to 
write.” 

“If you wish I’ll write for you.” 

“ Thank you ; I’ll wait a day or two yet, and see 
if something doesn’t turn up. ” 

It was not yet eight o’clock when Richard, after 
having a bit of lunch, left the restaurant to return 
to the Massanets’. Feeling that it was early yet, 
and having a desire to do some “window gazing,” 
he did not go up the Bowery, but strolled up Broad- 
way instead. 

The magnificent windows and their rare and , 
costly exhibits were to him an enjoyment of the 
keenest sort, and as he approached the neighborhood 
of As tor Place, where the hook stores seem to have 


OE, STRIKING OUT FOE HIMSELF. 


147 


congregated, he walked slower and slower, taking 
in all there was to be seen of each establishment, 
how the windows were dressed and the stock 
arranged, and wondering away down in his heart 
if he would ever own, or have an interest in, any 
similar establishment. 

While deeply engaged in reading the titles of a 
number of volumes in a certain window, he felt a 
light tap on his shoulder, and turning, found him- 
self face to face with Earle Norris. 

The shipping-clerk was dressed in the height of 
style, including low cut shoes and carried a heavy 
gold-headed cane. 

“ Hello, Dare ! ” he exclaimed pleasantly. 
“ What brings you up here ? ” 

For an instant Richard was taken aback, not only 
at meeting Norris, but at being greeted so famili- 
arly after what had occurred during the day. 

“ I have just finished my errand, and thought I’d 
take a walk to see the sights,” he returned. “ How 
is it you are not at the theater ? ” 

“ As I said, I didn’t care to go alone, so took your 
advice and sold the extra ticket, and also my own. 
I’ll take a walk along with you if you don’t 
mind.” 

Richard was not overpleased at the proposition ; 
yet he could not very well object except by seeming 


148 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


rude, and from this he shrank ; so he gave a mild 
assent. 

“ You see I like to get on good terms with all the 
boys,” explained Norris, as they walked leisurely 
along. “ I’m on the best of terms with every one in 
the establishment but Massanet, and I’d like to be 
with him, only he’s so awfully slow.” 

“ Frank Massanet is a very nice fellow,” said 
Eichard stoutly. 

“ Oh, yes — too nice for me, though. But let that 
pass. Everybody has his peculiarities. Have a 
smoke ? ” 

And Norris pulled two strong-looking cigars from 
his vest pocket. 

“ I’m much obliged,” replied the boy. “ I don’t 
smoke.” 

“ Try one. They are fine,” went on the shipping- 
clerk, stopping to get a light. “No time like the 
present for making a beginning. I’m quite sure it 
won’t make you sick.” 

“I don’t think I care to try,” was all Eichard 
could say ; and he heartily wished Earle Norris 
would go his own way. 

“Oh, well, it’s all right if you don’t care to. I 
find it just the thing to settle my nerves after a big 
day’s work.” 

They walked on in silence for nearly a block, and 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


149 


the boy was wondering how best to leave Norris 
without offending him when the latter spoke up. 

“ Here are the rooms of the Laurel Club,” he said, 
pointing up to the narrow but brilliantly lighted 
stairways of a handsome building just around the 
corner of a side street. 

“ The Laurel Club ? ” repeated Richard. 

“ Yes ; it is a club of about twenty young fellows. 
I am a member. We have a reading-room, and 
another for all kinds of games.” 

Norris did not take the trouble to add that “all 
kinds of games ” had narrowed down to simply card 
playing, and that for money, too. 

“ Just come up for a moment,” he went on. “I 
wish to get a book I left there a few nights ago.” 

“ I’ll wait for you here,” replied Richard. 

“No, no; I want to show you the rooms. We 
have some fine pictures and all that up there.” 

Somewhat against his will Richard consented. 
Norris led the way up three flights of stairs and then 
down a side hall. 

Stopping at a certain door he gave two distinct 
knocks, followed by a single one. 

There was a hurried movement within, and then 
the door, which had been securely locked, was cau- 
tiously opened. 

“ Hello, Springer ! ” exclaimed Norris to the tall 


150 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


young man who had admitted them. “ You’re 
locked up as if this was a sub-treasury. This is 
a friend of mine. Mr. Dare, Mr. Springer, our 
worthy secretary.” 

“Glad to know you, Mr. Dare ! ” said the other, 
and he gave Eichard’s hand a tight grip, but at the 
same time cast a sidelong, inquiring glance at 
Norris. 

“He’s a green one,” murmured Norris, as he 
brushed past. “Don’t you think we have it cozy 
up here ? ” he continued, turning to Eichard. 

Eichard was not prepared to answer in the 
affirmative. His introduction into the place, even 
though his curiosity has been small, was a disap- 
pointment. The room had been nicely furnished 
once, but the carpet and the furniture showed signs 
of much wear, and the pictures of which Norris 
had spoken proved to be several of a remarkably 
“loud” sort, but of no real artistic value or excel- 
lence. 

“ Many of the boys here to-night, Springer ? ” 
asked Norris. 

“ Foley, Nichols and two or three others. Will 
you take a hand in ? ” 

“ Maybe ; I’ll see in a little while.” 

“My night at the door,” growled Springer. “I 
hate it.” 



They are gambling,” he thought 






























































OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 151 

“ Never mind ; as long as we can’t pay a porter 
some one has got to do it among us. I’ll get my 
book,” added the shipping-clerk, glancing at Rich- 
ard. 

He entered the next room, closing the door care- 
fully behind him. Richard thought he heard the 
clinking of glasses within, but he was not sure. 

In a few moments Norris reappeared. 

“ Come in ! ” he said. “ The boys would like to 
know you.” 

Not dreaming of what was to come, Richard 
accepted the invitation. 

He found himself in a small room, well lighted. 
The air was heavy with tobacco smoke, and the 
fumes of liquor were not wanting. But what 
astonished him most was a group of five fellows 
seated at the center table, playing cards, with 
several piles of money in front of them. 

“They are gambling!” he thought, with some- 
thing like horror. “ I wish I was out of it.” 

“Gentlemen, my friend, Mr. Hare,” said Earle 
Norris. “ Come, sit down and make yourself at 
home,” he added, slapping Richard on the shoulder. 


152 


RICHARD dare’s VENTURE j 


CHAPTER XIX. 

THE LAUREL CLUB. 

Richard felt decidedly uncomfortable over the 
situation in which he now found himself. It was 
so unexpected— it had been so forced upon him that 
he did not know what to do. 

“Come, take a hand in,” repeated Earle Norris, 
offering him a chair at the table and at the same 
time removing his hat. 

“Thank you, but I do not play cards,” replied 
Richard coldly. 

“ Oh, you’ll soon learn ! ” returned the shipping- 
clerk. “ Come, sit down, and I’ll give you a few 
points.” 

“ I don’t care to learn,” was Richard’s firm reply. 
“ I never gambled in my life, and I don’t intend to 
begin now.” 

“ Say, Norris, what do you want to bring such a 
fellow up here for ? ” asked one of the players, with 
a scowl. “We were just having a jolly good 
game, and don’t care to have it spoilt.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


158 


“Oh, that’s all right. I’m aware of that; but 
Mr. Dare is a new-comer to New York, and I’m 
only showing him around a bit.” 

“We don’t want any one here who is going to 
give us away,” put in another player. “Harrison, 
your cut.” 

“I’m quite sure Mr. Dare won’t be so mean,” 
said Norris. “ Come, make yourself at home.” 

But during the last few minutes Bichard had 
been doing some heavy thinking, and the conclu- 
sion of it all was that he had better get out as soon 
as possible. He had nothing in common with such 
a crowd, and to remain might place him in an awk- 
ward if not dangerous position. 

*“ I thought you only wanted to get a book ? ” he 
said to Norris. 

“ So I did ; but now we are up here we might as 
well stay awhile and have some fun. "It’s early 
yet.” 

“ It’s not early for me,” responded Bichard. “ I 
promised to be back by nine o’.clock, and it must be 
near that now. Just give me my hat.” 

For Norris had taken his guest’s hat and placed 
it on a hook beside his own. 

For reply, the shipping-clerk pulled Bichard down 
into a seat. 

“Don’t be a fool,” he whispered. “We won’t 


154 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


hurt yon. All the fellows here are gentlemen. No 
use of offending them.” 

Richard sprang to his feet. 

“ I don’t want to stay, and that’s all there is to 
it,” he exclaimed. “If your friends are offended 
by my going away, why I can’t help it. I didn’t 
come up here of my own choosing in the first place, 
and I claim the right to leave whenever I please.” 

“ Oh, you do, do you ? ” sneered Norris. “ Well, 
we’ll see about that.” 

And he placed himself between Richard and the 
door. 

Richard grew pale. 

“Perhaps I’ll have to fight my way out,” he 
thought. “ I suppose this is nothing but a gam- 
bling den. Well, I’ll fight if it comes to that,” he 
finished ; and his eyes flashed with determination. 

“Come, Norris, none of that,” said a tall young 
.man, who sat at the head of the table. “No one 
shall be forced to stay here against his will. You 
should have found out if your friend cared for this 
sort of thing before you brought him. ” 

It was seldom that Don Wimler said so much, 
either at the cluh-rooms or outside, and every one 
knew he meant every word. 

Earle Norris’s face fell. 

“Of course, if Dare won’t stay, he needn’t,” he 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


155 


said slowly. ‘ ‘ I only thought I was doing him a 
favor by bringing him.” 

“I hope, Mr. Dare, that you will not speak of 
what you have seen here to-night,” went on Don 
Winder. “ It might place us in an unpleasant 
predicament.” 

Richard hesitated. 

“ If I do, it will only be so far as it concerns Mr. 
Norris and myself,” he replied. “ I have no desire 
to hurt you or the others.” 

And going to the door Richard passed swiftly 
through it to the outer room. 

Norris was after him on the instant. 

“ What do you mean by saying you may tell on 
me ? ” he demanded, with an evil look in his eyes. 

“I meant just what I said,” retorted Richard. 
“ I may be green, but I’m not so green as you take 
me to be. Let me go.” 

Norris had taken a tight hold of his shoulder. 

“ You shan’t go till you promise to keep the 
thing quiet,” he replied grimly. 

For reply, Richard gathered himself together and 
gave the shipping-clerk a shove that sent that indi- 
vidual sprawling to the floor. 

Before Norris could regain his feet, Richard had 
unlocked the outer door, and was speeding down 
the stairs. 


156 eichaed daee’s venttjee ; 

“I made a failure of it that time/’ muttered the 
shipping-clerk, as he slowly arose to his feet. 
“But we’ll get even yet, and more than even, 
too ! ” 

Bichard breathed a sigh of relief when he emerged 
once more upon the street, 

“ I’m glad I found Norris out, any way,” he said 
to himself as he hurried along. “I. think I can 
safely put him down as a bad egg.” 

Betracing his way down Broadway the hoy at 
length crossed over to Grand Street, and directed 
his steps towards the east side. 

When he reached the Massanets’ it was quarter 
past nine. Mattie let him in, stating that her 
mother and her brother had not yet returned. 

Frank had told her of the street urchin and the 
letters, and she was anxious to hear about the result 
of Bichard’s visit to Doc Linyard’s, trusting it had 
been good. 

Bichard related the particulars. He did not men- 
tion Norris ; and finally the talk drifted around to 
Pep, the street urchin. 

“I feel sorry for him,” said Mattie Massanet. 
“We must find out where he lives, and see if we 
can’t do something for him and his sick father.” 

“I’ve been thinking of it,” returned Bichard. 
“ He is very shy, and wouldn’t even tell me his last 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 157 

name. But perhaps when he sees that I mean him 
no harm he’ll grow more communicative.” 

“We might go down and see his father on a 
Sunday,” went on Mattie. “I suppose the neigh- 
borhood in which he lives isn’t a very nice one to 
visit at night.” 

“ I’ll ask him if we can come.” 

There was something about Mattie Massanet that 
Bichard liked very much. She was gentle as well 
as lively, and sympathetic as well as full of fun. She 
reminded him strongly of his sister Nancy in 
one way, and his sister Grace in another. Indeed it 
was Mattie who made the Massanet flat a real home 
for him. 

Presently there were footsteps on the stairs, and 
in a moment Mrs. Massanet and her son entered. 
They had been shopping over in the French district, 
and carried several bundles. 

It was now drawing towards ten o’clock, and only 
a few words were spoken before the good-nights 
were said. 

In the upper hall Kichard asked Frank to come to 
his room, and giving his friend a chair and seating 
himself upon the edge of the bed he told of his 
adventure with Norris. 

“I have suspected Norris of something like that 
for several months,” said Frank. “I was tolerable 


158 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


sure that he was spending more money than he was 
making now. He must be an expert player or else 
an unfair one. I suppose he thought as long as he 
got you there the rest would follow easy enough. 
I’m glad you didn’t give in. If you had, he or his 
companions would have won every cent you had, 
and perhaps have placed you in debt to them.” 

“ What would you do ? Tell on him ? ” 

“ Williams & Mann ought to know what kind of 
a fellow their shipping-clerk is,” replied Frank. 
“ Yet one word about it may cost Norris his position. 
Suppose you wait a day or two ? Watch how he 
acts and think it over.” 

Eichard thought this was good advice, and told 
Frank he guessed it was just what he would do ; 
and on this conclusion the two separated. 

Far better would it have been for both, however, 
if they had taken their information to the firm at 
once. Later happenings will explain why. 


OB, STRIKING OUT BOB HIMSELF. 


159 


CHAPTER XX. 

TROUBLE BREWING. 

In the morning Richard went to work as if noth- 
ing out of the ordinary had happened. It was not 
until after dinner that business called him down to 
the packing-room, and then there were several 
others besides Norris present. 

Yet the shipping- clerk evinced a strong desire to 
talk to Richard privately, and finally accosted him 
just as he was going up the stairs. 

“ Say, I hope you’ll let what happened last night 
pass,” he said in an undertone. “ I only wanted to 
show you a little of life here, and didn’t dream 
you’d resent it as you did.” 

“Well, next time you will understand that I 
mean what I say,” returned Richard sharply. 

“ I know I was to blame,” went on Norris 
humbly. ‘ c But to tell the truth I’d had a glass of 
champagne at supper time, and my head wasn’t as 
clear as it should have been. If you say anything 
of it here, though, I may be discharged.” 


160 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Well, I won’t say anything unless something 
more happens,” Richard replied. “ I don’t want to 
get any one into trouble. But I’ll tell you, Mr. 
Norris,” he went on, “I think you’re on the wrong 
track. Take my advice, even if I am younger than 
you, and steer clear of the Laurel Club.” 

“ I’ll think of it,” replied the shipping-clerk, 
turning away. 

“ I guess I’ve shut the young fool up,” he mut- 
tered to himself. “ He might have placed me in a 
decided fix if he had told all he knew.” 

Of course Richard reported the interview to 
Frank. Indeed the two were now deep in each 
other’s confidence, and no such thought as keeping 
the matter to himself would have crossed Richard’s 
mind. 

“ Perhaps it will teach him a lesson,” said Frank. 
“ But I doubt it. Better keep an eye on him.” 

Later in the day Mr. Mann came up to the stock- 
room, looking very black. He asked a number of 
questions about some books that had been sent to 
Troy four days before. “ The party that received 
them says there were five or six sets of Irving’s 
works badly damaged. Do you know anything 
about it ? ” 

“ No, sir,” replied Frank promptly. “ Those we 
packed up were all in first-class order.” 


Oil, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


161 


“ Well, there was some damaged stock here.” 

“ Yes, sir, quite a good deal that was soaked by 
that water-pipe bursting three weeks ago. But 
Mr. Williams ordered us to sort it out, and it was 
all sent to the second-hand dealer’s last week.” 

“ Are you sure ? ” 

“ Positive, sir. Dare, here, helped me ship it 
off.” 

Mr. Mann turned to Richard. 

“ That’s so, Mr. Mann,” put in the latter. “ And 
I remember well that before the last box went 
down we hunted high and low to see that nothing 
that was damaged in the least should be left be- 
hind.” 

“ Well, it’s mighty queer how those people in 
Troy should get twenty odd volumes of damaged 
stock. We’ll have to make a reduction in their 
bill, I suppose. Be careful of the goods shipped in 
the future.” 

And with this retort Mr. Mann took the elevator 
and went below. 

“ I can’t see how those people could have got a 
single damaged volume,” said Richard when the 
head of the firm had departed. “ I remember that 
box well, and every ’volume in it was perfect.” 

On returning to the Massanets’ that evening 

Frank heard bad news. An aunt had died over in 

11 


162 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Port Richmond, on Staten Island. His mother 
had gone to the place at once, and wished her 
son to come to the funeral, on the following after- 
noon. 

“ Of course I’ll have to go,” said Frank to Rich- 
ard. “ I’ll stop at the store on my way down and 
let the firm know, and also help you enough to get 
along while I am gone.” 

This Frank did. He readily obtained permission 
from Mr. Williams to he absent, and at ten o’clock 
Richard found himself in sole charge of the stock- 
room. 

There were a number of important orders to fill, 
and the hoy worked like a heaver to get them done 
in time. 

“ I’m so glad for the chance to do something for 
Frank ; he has been so kind,” said Richard to him- 
self. “ Besides, some day I may wish him to do 
me a like favor. ” 

Richard was careful that there should be no 
mistakes, and it is perhaps needless to state 
that he had both eyes wide open for damaged 
books. 

While hard at work, with his coat off and his 
sleeves rolled up, Mr. Williams appeared. He was 
quite an old man, and in many respects much 
pleasanter than his partner. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


163 


“ I came up to see how you were making out,” 
he said. “ You will have your hands full, trying 
to do two men’s work.” 

“ Oh, I guess I can manage it,” replied Richard 
pleasantly. “ I wouldn’t want to do it very long, 
though,” he added. 

“ I’ll give you a hand,” said Mr. Williams. 
“ This used to he my work years ago, and I still 
like it.” 

“ Here is an order from Pittsburgh I can’t read 
very well,” said Richard. “ I’d he much obliged if 
you will help me on that.” 

“ All right. Give it to me.” 

In a few minutes employer and employee were 
hard at work together. Mr. Williams had not in- 
tended to stay very long, but he became interested, 
both in the work and in Richard, and it was only 
when, two hours later, a message came for him, 
that he went below. 

“ He is a nice man,” thought Richard, when Mr. 
Williams had gone. “ I am sure he would not have 
treated Mr. Mann with more consideration than he 
did me. No wonder Mr. Joyce called for him first 
the day he brought me here.” 

A little later Earle Norris came up. 

“ Hello ! alone ? ” he exclaimed. 

“Yes.” 


164 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ How’s that ? ” Thought Massanet was as steady 
as clockwork. 

Richard told him why Frank was absent. 

“ Oh, that’s all right,” said Norris. 

“ What brought you up ? ” asked Richard. 

“ I came up to see if Martin’s order from Pitts- 
burgh was filled yet. It’s got to go first thing in 
the morning.” 

“There it is; been done half an hour ago,” re- 
plied Richard. 

He did not think it necessary to add that Mr. 
Williams had filled it. 

“All right ; send it down at once,” replied Nor- 
ris. “Rather tough, making you do all the work,” 
he added. “I’d strike for higher pay.” 

“I am very well satisfied with the way I am 
treated,” returned Richard. 

Norris disappeared, and a moment later Richard 
sent the crate containing the goods down on the 
elevator to be packed up below. After that he 
worked steadily until six o’clock, at which time 
he had the satisfaction of knowing that every 
order sent up had been promptly and correctly 
filled. 

Richard found Frank and his mother already at 
home when he reached there in the evening. The 
funeral of Mrs. Massanet’s sister had been a quiet, 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


165 


but sad affair, and Richard saw that no one was in 
humor for much talking, and all retired early. 

Frank was not a little astonished in the morning 
to find that Richard had done all the work so well, 
and also that Mr. Williams had helped. 

“ I declare, between you, you’ll soon be cutting 
me out of a job,” he laughed. 

“Oh, I hope not,” returned Richard. “If I’d 
thought that, I surely would not have worked so 
hard.” 

“ Oh, it’s all right,” replied Frank. 

“If I ever go into business for myself,” he 
thought, “Richard Dare is just the clerk I want to 
help me. He is bright, and not afraid of work, 
and those are the fellows who get along.” 

Frank Massanet’s one idea was to some day own 
a bookstore of his own. He understood the trade 
thoroughly, and with the proper location and a fair 
amount of cash he was tolerably certain that he 
could make such a place pay. His savings amounted 
to several hundred dollars now ; he was only wait- 
ing for the time to come when they would be at 
least a thousand. Then he intended to strike out 
for himself. 

The two worked on steadily through most of the 
day. Late in the afternoon a boy came up from 
below. 


166 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“Mr. Mann would like to see you in liis private 
office,” he said to Richard. 

The latter was surprised at the announcement. 
Since he had gone to work he had not been called 
for once before. 

“ What does he want of me ? ” 

“I don’t know,” replied the boy. “He is awful 
mad about something, and has sent for several of 
the others. ” 

“I can’t understand it,” said Richard to Frank, 
as he put on his coat. “I don’t know of anything 
that has gone wrong.” 

And considerably worried, Richard descended to 
the ground floor, and knocked on the door of the 
private office. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOE HIMSELF. 


167 


CHAPTER XXI. 

RICHARD IN TROUBLE. 

Richard found Mr. Mann alone. The gentleman 
was seated at his desk and greeted the boy coldly. 

“ You sent for me, I believe,” began Richard. 

“Yes,” replied Mr. Mann, “I want to have a 
little talk with you.” He gazed at Richard sharply. 
“How long have you lived in New York?” he 
asked. 

“ Two weeks, sir. I was only here two days be- 
fore I came to work for you.” 

“But you are pretty well acquainted with the 
place ? ” 

“Not very well, sir. I was never here before. 
But I think I can find my way anywhere quick 
enough, if you wish to send me on an errand,” 
he added, thinking Mr. Mann might possibly have 
some commission for him to execute. 

“No doubt you could,” replied the gentleman 
dryly. “But I don’t wish to send you anywhere. 
You are an orphan, I believe. Where do you live ? ” 


168 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ I board with the Massanets.” 

“Does Norris board with them, too?” 

“No, sir.” 

“ Where does he live ? ” 

“ I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know ?” 

“No, sir.” 

Mr. Mann gazed at Richard severely. 

“I thought you two were good friends,” he said. 

“ I hardly know Norris,” replied Richard. “He 
is certainly no friend of mine.” 

Richard felt that the present would have been a 
good time to tell what he knew about the shipping- 
clerk, but remembering his half promise to the 
latter he remained silent. 

“You may go,” said Mr. Mann, briefly.; “but 
stop. Have you any keys belonging to this place 
in your possession ? ” 

“Keys? No, sir.” 

“ Oh, all right.” 

“But — what made you ask that?” began Rich- 
ard, considerably perplexed. 

“I wanted to know, that was all.” 

“We have no keys of anything up in the stock- 
room,” continued the boy. 

“ I know that. You can go to work,” Mr. Mann 
snapped. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


169 


And Richard passed out. 

“ Either that boy is perfectly honest or else he is 
the most accomplished actor I ever saw,” thought 
the merchant when left alone. 

“Well, what’s the trouble ?” asked Frank, when 
Richard reached the stock-room. “I hope you 
haven’t been discharged. ” 

“No, it’s not as bad as that, but I — I don’t know 
what to make of it, and that’s a fact.” 

The stock-clerk listened carefully to the story 
Richard had to tell. 

“ Depend upon it there is something in the wind. 
You had better watch Norris ; he may be getting 
you into trouble.” 

“I half wish I had told the firm of Norris’s 
actions,” said Richard. 

“ Perhaps it would have been best,” replied Frank. 

On the way home that night the two met Pep. 
The urchin had evidently been waiting for Richard, 
for he ran up at once. 

“I’ve got something for you, Mr. Dare,” he ex- 
claimed, and shifting his bundle of papers he drew 
out a silver dollar from his ragged clothes. “Here 
is one of de dollars I owes yer. I’ll have de odder 
one in a few days, I guess.” 

“ Did you earn it ? ” asked Richard, without tak- 
ing the proffered coin. 


170 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Yes, sir, honestly too, sellin’ papers.” 

“ And how is your father ? Any better ?” 

“Not much, sir. That pneumony hangs on so.” 

“ Perhaps you had better keep this money. You 
may need it for medicine.” 

“No, sir, Pm earning enough to buy that now. 
I want you to take this. I’d feel better if yer did. 
If it wasn’t fer dad I a-given it to yer long ago.” 

“ All right then.” Richard slipped the coin in his 
pocket. “I’d like to see your father once, and see 
how you live. Maybe I and my friend here, Mr. 
Massanet, can help you a hit. Can I come ? ” 

Pep hung his head. 

“We live in a garret, and you’d find it mighty 
dirty. Nobody with good clothes has got any right 
there.” 

“We won’t mind the dirt,” put in Frank eagerly. 
“Only let us come. I’m sure we can help you 
some.” 

“ Where can we meet you, Pep ? ” asked Richard, 
seeing that the little Arab wavered. “I suppose 
we can’t find your home alone very well.” 

“ Guess you can’t. We’re in a heap down our 
way. I dunno,” the last in reference to the meet- 
ing. “Just wherever you two gentlemen says. 
You was so kind I guess dad won’t mind mybringin’ 
you.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


171 


“ Suppose you come up to our house,” suggested 
Frank. “ Will you do that ? ” 

“ Yes, sir, if yer want me.” 

“ I do. Come to dinner at one o’clock, and we’ll 
take something along for your father.” Frank de- 
scribed the location and the house in which he lived. 
“Do you think you can find it ?” he concluded. 

“ Walk right in de front door wid me eyes shet,” 
laughed Pep. “ You’re mighty kind,” he added 
soberly. 

“Will you come ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Sure ? ” put in Eichard. 

“I will, ’ceptin’ dad’s so sick I can’t” replied Pep. 

In the evening Eichard and Frank took a walk, 
first up town and then down Broadway. On the 
way the boy pointed out to his friend the building 
in which the meetings of the Laurel Club were 
held. 

“I wonder if Norris is up there to-night,” ob- 
served Frank. “ Suppose we stand here in the 
shadow for a while and watch who goes in and 
comes out.” 

Eichard agreed to this, and crossing the street 
they took a stand directly opposite the entrance to 
the place. 

Here they waited for perhaps fifteen minutes. 


172 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


At the end of that time along came Norris, arm in 
arm with another member of the club. 

“ There he goes ! ” exclaimed Richard, as the two 
went up the stairs. 

“ There is a man watching them ? ” added Frank, 
as another individual, who had come close behind 
the others stopped at the corner. “ Wonder who it 
is?” 

“ He’s coming over here,” said Richard. “ We’ll 
get in this hallway and see him as he passes. I 
suppose he’s a stranger to us. ” 

Near by was a dark hallway, partly open. Both 
of the boys stepped into it, and an instant later 
the stranger went by. 

When he was gone Frank uttered an exclamation. 

“ I saw that fellow talking to Mr. Mann in the 
post-office only a few days ago ! I think he is a 
private detective.” 

Richard gave a start. 

“Then I see it all,” he groaned. “That man 
knows of Norris’s doings, and as he has seen me in 
his company he thinks I’m in with that crowd, and 
has probably told Mr Mann so.” 

“Very likely that’s the case,” admitted Frank, 
after a moment’s thought. 

“It’s an awful fix to be in,” continued Richard. 
“I don’t know how I can ever clear my name. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


173 


Even if I tell what I know about Norris I have no 
proofs to show that I didn’t go to that place will- 
ingly.” 

“ That’s true. You’re in a bad light at the best. 
It’s a shame ! I’ll tell you what you do.” 

“ What?” 

“ There is no reason why you should suffer on 
Norris’s account. He is no friend of yours, and 
has been trying to lead you astray. Who knows 
but what, if he is left alone, he may not try some 
day to get you in even deeper ? I’d go to Mr. 
Williams and tell him the whole truth.” 

At first Richard demurred. He did not wish to 
“ tattle” on anybody, and, besides, not having a 
forward nature, he shrank from the exposure. 

But Frank soon talked him out of this, and by 
the time they reached the Massanets’ home Rich- 
ard decided to “have it out” the first thing in the 
morning. 

But upon reaching the store the following day a 
disappointment awaited him. Mr. Williams had 
gone to Boston, and would not he hack for several 
days. 

“I hate to tell Mr. Mann,” said Richard. “I 
guess I’ll wait till Mr. Williams returns.” 

“I wouldn’t,” replied Frank. “I’d have it off 
my mind at once.” 


1T4 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


But the thought of facing Mr. Mann was not a 
pleasant one, and the boy hesitated. While delib- 
erating upon what to do the office hoy appeared. 

“Mr. Mann wants you down in his office right 
away,” he said to Richard. 

“What, again?” 

“Yes, sir. Told me to tell you to come right 
down.” 

“ Oh, Frank, I’m sure something is wrong ! ” 
cried Richard, when the boy was gone. 

“ It looks so,” replied the stock-clerk. “ Never 
mind. Remember you are in the right, and keep a 
stiff upper lip.” 

Much troubled in mind, Richard slowly de- 
scended the steps, and entered Mr. Mann’s office. 
As before the gentleman was alone. 

“ You wish to see me, sir ?” began Richard, and 
somehow his voice trembled in spite of himself. 

“Yes, I do,” replied Mr. Mann coldly. “ I wish 
to tell you that your services are no longer re- 
quired. Here is your salary for this week. You 
can leave at once.” 

Had Richard been struck in the face he would 
not have been more taken aback than he was by 
this short and cold speech. 

“ But — Mr. Mann — I ” he began. 

“ I want no words with you,” interrupted the 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 175 

merchant. “ You understand why you are dis- 
charged as well as I do.” 

“ Yes, but I’m sure ” 

“ No words, sir. Don’t you understand me ? I 
wish you to leave instantly,” cried Mr. Mann 
irascibly. 

Richard colored. 

“ I’ll go,” he said. “ But let me say that I con- 
sider you are treating me very unfairly.” 

And with tears of indignation in his eyes, Rich- 
ard left the office. 


176 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE > 


CHAPTER XXII. 

RICHARD VISITS MR. JOYCE AGAIN. 

“ I’m discharged, Frank.” 

Frank Massanet dropped the hooks he held in his 
hands. “ Discharged ! ” he cried. “ Surely, Dick, 
you don’t mean it ! ” 

“ I do,” replied Richard. “ Mr. Mann has given 
me my wages for this week, and says he wants me 
to leave at once.” 

“ But how — what did he have to say ? What did 
he accuse you of ? ” 

“ He had very little to say. He said I knew 
quite as well as he did why I was discharged.” 

“ But didn’t he give you a chance to explain ? ” 

“ No ; he wouldn’t let me say a word. I tried 
to, but he shut me right up.” 

“ It’s a shame,” exclaimed the stock-clerk, indig- 
nantly. “ I never thought Mr. Mann could he so 
unfair.” He hesitated a moment. “I’ll do it ; yes, 
I will,” he went on, half to himself. 

“ Do what ? ” asked Richard. 


OR, STRIKING OUT TOR HIMSELF. 


177 


“ Go down and have a talk with him. He’s in 
the wrong, and ought to be told so.” 

“ No, no, don’t go down ! ” cried Eichard in 
alarm. “ I could plainly see that he was in a had 
temper, and you’ll only get yourself into trouble.” 

“ I don’t care, it’s ” began the stock-clerk 

with flashing eyes, that showed up well the force of 
character within. 

“ No, no ! ” repeated Eichard. He would not 
have his friend get into trouble on his account for 
the world. “ I am much obliged to you for want- 
ing to help me, indeed I am, hut I’d rather leave 
the thing as it is.” 

“ What will you do ? ” 

“ I hardly know yet. I’m completely upset and 
want time to think.”. 

“ You’re not going to sit down and calmly sub- 
mit to it, I hope ? ” 

“ Indeed I’m not. Mr. Mann has cast a slur on 
my character, and I’m going to remove that, no 
matter what happens afterwards.” 

Eichard washed his hands and put on his coat in 
silence. Frank Massanet sat on the edge of a pack- 
ing case and watched the boy thoughtfully. 

“ I wonder if Earle Norris has been discharged ? ” 
he remarked. “ If any one was to go he should 

have been the person.” 

12 


178 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ I don’t know,” replied Richard. “ I’ll try to 
find out as I go down.” 

“ Where are you going ? ” 

“ I don’t know that either. I must think it 
over.” 

“ Never mind ; remember what I said before ; 
you’re in the right, so keep a stiff upper lip,” re- 
turned Frank. 

When Richard went down he passed through the 
the shipping-room. Earle Norris was hard at work, 
sending off orders. He looked surprised, or pre- 
tended to, as the boy entered. 

“ Hello ! ” he exclaimed, “ Off early ? ” 

“ Yes, I am,” returned Richard briefly 

“ How’s that ? Got a vacation ? ” 

“Yes.” 

The boy did not care to be further questioned, and 
so quickly left the building. 

“Reckon he’s discharged,” muttered Norris un- 
der his breath. “So far Harrison’s scheme works 
well. Now I must use my wits to clear myself.” 

“Norris does not act as if he had received bad 
news,” thought Richard, with a shake of his head. 
“ I can’t make it out. There is something behind 
it all, but what it is, still remains to be seen.” 

Richard walked down Beekman Street and then 
turned the corners of several other streets. He had 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


179 


no definite plan in mind, and time seemed at that 
particular moment of no great value. 

Finally he found himself in the neighborhood of 
the leather district, and determined to call upon 
Mr. Joyce. 

He was not long in reaching the latter’s ware- 
house, and a moment later found himself in the 
merchant’s office. As usual Mr. Joyce was hard 
at work at his desk. He looked surprised at Rich- 
ard’s entrance, but finished the letter he was 
writing before he turned around and spoke. 

“Well, Dare, dropped in to see me?” he said 
pleasantly. “ Have a chair.” 

“ Thank you, Mr. Joyce. Yes, I — I have come 
to see you,” said Richard, hardly knowing how to 
begin. “ I want your advice,” he added. 

“ Yes ? Well, you can have that, I’m sure. How 
are you making out at Williams & Mann’s ? ” 

“ I was discharged this morning.” 

“What !” 

Mr. Joyce’s face betrayed resentment, anger, pity 
and curiosity, all in one. 

“ But believe me, sir, I am not to blame,” went 
on Richard hastily. “I have done my work, and 
more, faithfully, and Mr. Mann would give no 
reason for discharging me.” 

“But there must have been some reason,” ex- 


180 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


claimed the leather merchant flatly. “No one 
sends away an efficient clerk without cause.” 

“Well, I can’t make it out/’ replied the hoy. 
“That’s the reason I came to you. I’m sure I 
haven’t done anything wrong, and I haven’t been 
negligent.” 

Richard’s earnest manner had its full effect upon 
Mr. Joyce. 

“Well, tell me your story,” he said. “Tell me 
every word of the plain truth. Unless you do that 
I can’t help you a bit.” 

“ So Richard told of everything that had hap- 
pened since he had gone to work — of his intimacy 
with the Massanets, his acquaintanceship with Earle 
Norris, the adventure at the Laurel Club, and all. 
Mr. Joyce listened in silence until the boy’s story 
was concluded. 

Then he put a number of questions, to make sure 
that nothing had been left out or covered up. 

“I can’t see how you are to blame,” he said at 
the last. “You did wrong not to let some one know 
how this Norris had treated you, but you have done 
nothing, as far as I can make out, to warrant dis- 
missal. I will go up and see Mr. Mann in a little 
while — just as soon as I finish my morning’s work. 
Will you go along ? ” 

“ If you think I ought to. Mr. Mann wanted me 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 181 

to get out though, and talked as if he didn’t want 
to see me again.” 

“ Never mind. Everybody is entitled to a hear- 
ing, and Mr. Mann is probably laboring under a 
false impression.” 

In half an hour the two were on the way. Bich- 
ard’s heart beat quickly as they walked along, for 
in some manner Mr. Joyce’s presence inspired him 
with confidence. 

When they reached the store Mr. Mann had gone 
out for lunch. In a few minutes, however, he re- 
turned. He greeted Mr. Joyce with cold politeness, 
and then frowned openly upon Bichard. 

“Say, Mel, what’s the trouble here?” began Mr. 
Joyce, diving right into the subject at hand. “My 
young friend says he has been discharged without 
warning.” 

“We have paid him his week’s wages,” replied 
Mr. Mann stiffly. 

“ So he says, but he wants to know why you dis- 
charged him. He says you acted as if something 
was wrong.” 

“ Well, something is wrong,” admitted the book- 
merchant ; and then he added in an undertone : “I 
meant to send you word about it. I don’t care to 
have the boy aware how much or how little I 
do know. Send him out, and I’ll tell you the 


182 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 

whole affair. The boy is not so innocent as he 
looks.” 

“ Bosh ! I told you before I knew an honest face 
when I saw it, and I’ll wager he’s as honest as the 
day is long. Dare,” continued Mr. Joyce, turning 
to Richard, “ just go outside in the store and wait 
for me.” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

Richard went out as directed. In the short time 
that he had been with Williams & Mann he had 
come but little in contact with the clerks down- 
stairs, and they hardly knew him, and now allowed 
him to stand around as though he was a stranger. 

The dismissal made him feel strange, too. He 
wished he could go upstairs to Frank, but he did 
not know how soon Mr. Joyce might want him. He 
wondered how Frank was getting along, and who 
the firm would get to help him. 

A short half hour passed. It seemed like an age 
to Richard. 

Then the private office door opened and Mr. Joyce 
called for him to come in. 

Hardly knowing what to expect, the boy entered. 
Mr. Joyce closed the door carefully behind him. 

“ Well, Dare,” began Mr. Mann, “ we have talked 
your case over pretty thoroughly, and while there 
are some things in your conduct that I don’t like, 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


183 


yet I admit that perhaps I was hasty in judging 
you. I did not care to explain all I know for 
reasons you may learn later. You may go to work 
again if you wish.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” replied the boy, nearly as much 
surprised at this sudden turn as he had been at the 
first. “ But I ” 

“ Never mind, now. I know there are many 
things you would like to know, and which, perhaps, 
I ought to explain ; hut for the present you will 
have to let that pass.” 

“ I’m willing to, as long as it comes out right in 
the end,” replied the boy. “ Thank you, Mr. Joyce, 
for your kindness,” he added, turning to the leather 
merchant, and then withdrew. 


184 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

STRANGE DISCOVERIES. 

Frank Massanet was surprised and delighted to 
have Richard come to work again. 

“ You have indeed a good friend in Mr. Joyce,” 
he remarked when the hoy had told him what the 
leather merchant had done. ‘ ‘ One such is worth a 
thousand of the common sort. ” 

During the afternoon Earle Norris had occasion 
to come up to the stock-room. He started back 
upon seeing Richard at work. 

“ Why, I thought you had taken a vacation ! ” he 
exclaimed. 

“ So I did — for an hour,” replied Richard, and 
without further words went on with his work. 

“ Why, I thought ” began the shipping-clerk. 

“ What did you think ? ” demanded Frank, coming 
forward. 

“Why I — I ” stammered Norris. “What 

business is it of yours f ” he added rudely. 

“You thought he was discharged,” went on 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 185 

Frank. “ You’ve been trying your best to get him 
discharged. ” 

“ Who says so ? ” demanded Norris, but he turned 
slightly pale as he uttered the words. 

“ I say so. I don’t understand your scheme, but 
that’s what you are trying to do ; and I warn you 
that you had better quit it.” 

It was seldom that Frank Massanet spoke in such 
an arbitrary way, yet it was plain to see that he 
meant every word he said. 

“ You’re mistaken,” returned Norris, hardly 
knowing how to reply. “ But it’s only natural that 
you should stick up for your mother’s boarders. 
They help support the family, I suppose.” 

And with this parting shot the shipping-clerk 
hurried below. 

In the middle of the afternoon Mr. Mann sent for 
Richard and asked the boy to accompany him to an 
office on lower Broadway. 

“ I wish you to keep our visit to the place a secret,” 
he said. “ I might as well tell you something is 
going wrong at our place. Goods are missing from 
several departments and we cannot trace them. 
They are taken by some one in our employ, but 
there must be a confederate outside.” 

“ Did Mr. Joyce tell you about ” 

“ Norris? Yes; but I knew that. I thought 


186 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


you were in collusion with him, because you were 
seen in his company.” 

“ By that detective, I suppose.” 

“Do you know him ? ” asked the book merchant, 
in much surprise. 

“Not much ; Frank Massanet told me of him.” 

And Richard related the particulars. 

“But did not Norris try to get me out of a posi- 
tion ? ” he added. 

“Yes — no — I don’t know.” Mr. Mann con- 
tracted his brow, and then a light seemed to break 
in upon him. “ He did cast suspicion upon you, but 
I thought that was only done for effect — I couldn’t 
exactly understand it.” 

“ Perhaps he wished to get some one in my place 
— some one who would aid him — that is, if he is the 
guilty party. Who had my place before ? ” 

“A tall young man named Springer. He was 
discharged for incompetency. 

“Springer!” exclaimed Richard. “That was 
the name of the doorkeeper at the Laurel Club. 
He and Norris are great friends.” 

“Ah ! Then I see it. Hold up ! We received two 
applications for your position only last week.” 

“What were the names ?” asked the boy, deeply 
interested. 

“I have them here in my note-book,” replied Mr. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


18T 


Mann, feeling in his pocket. “Do you remember 
the names of those you met at that club ? ” 

Richard thought a moment. 

“Harrison, Foley, Nichols and Springer, I think. 
I’m pretty good at remembering names,” he re- 
turned. 

Mr. Mann got out his notebook. 

“ Here they are ! ” he cried. “ Andrew S. Foley 
is one, and Henry Nichols the other.” He jammed 
the volume back into his pocket. “It’s as clear as 
day. There is no necessity for your going with me 
now. You can return to the store ; but remember, 
not a word of this, even to Massanet.” 

“ I’ll remember, sir.” 

When Richard returned to the stock-room, his 
friend, of course, wanted to know what was up, 
but the boy only replied that it was all right, and 
that Mr. Mann had requested him to keep silent. 

Throughout the entire establishment there ap- 
peared to be the feeling that something was about 
to happen — what, no one knew. 

As the two boys were returning home that even- 
ing, they met the street urchin Pep, who greeted 
them politely. He had a bigger bundle of papers 
than ever, and seemed to be prospering in his street 
trade. 

Nevertheless, he had a sober, earnest look upon 


188 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

his countenance that caught Richard’s eye immedi- 
ately. 

“ What’s up, Pep ?” he asked kindly. 

“ Dad’s worse, sir,” replied the boy. “I don’t 
think I can come up Sunday, ’ceptin’ he gets better. ” 

“ Wouldn’t you like us to come down, any way ? ” 
asked Frank. 

“I would, yes; hut he wouldn’t. His head ain’t 
right, and he don’t want no one around ’ceptin’ me.” 

“ Well, will you come up to the house, and get 
some nice stuff I will give you ? Some eating and 
the like ? ” continued Frank. 

“Yes, sir; thank you.” 

“ I’ll expect you. Good-by.” 

“Good-by, sir. Good-by, Mr. Dare,” cried Pep. 
“Oh, say,” he added, running back, “I reckon I 
can give you that other dollar by Monday. ” 

On Saturday afternoon, as they were starting 
home early, Frank unfolded his scheme of one day 
going into business for himself. 

“I would like to see you do it,” cried Richard, 
“ and make a big success of it, too. You deserve 
it, Frank — such a good fellow as you are ! ” 

A few minutes later a funeral of some old soldier 
passed. There were several coaches, and then a 
post of Grand Army men. The sight was a sad 
one to Richard. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


189 


“ My father was a soldier,” he said to his compan- 
ion. “ He was shot, too,” he added, with a sigh. 

“ Yes ? said Frank. “ Then yonr mother gets a 
pension,” he added, after a pause. 

“No, she does not. She ought to have one, hut 
we cannot get our claim passed. My father let it 
rest so long that when he did try he could find 
no witness.” 

And Richard related the full particulars of the 
case. Frank Massanet listened attentively. 

“I think, as your sister Grace says, I’d turn 
the whole country upside down before I’d give up 
the hope of finding a witness,” he said. “Why, 
it would amount to several thousand dollars ! A 
small fortune ! ” 

“I’m going to try as soon as I get settled,” re- 
plied Richard. “I haven’t any money to do any- 
thing with yet.” 

“I’d advertise as soon as I could afford it,” sug- 
gested Frank. “And I’d write to the secretaries 
of all these old soldiers’ organizations, too, giv- 
ing your father’s full name and what he belonged 
to.” 

“That’s a good idea,” exclaimed Richard. “I’ll 
do that this week. I have plenty of time in the 
evening, and can get the addresses from the direc- 
tory.” 


190 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE l 


CHAPTER XXIY. 
pep’s home. 

Sunday morning dawned clear and bright. Rich- 
ard was naturally an early riser, but the unaccus- 
tomed sounds in the streets awoke him at an even 
earlier hour than he usually arose, and when seven 
o’clock came, and the Massanets assembled for 
breakfast, they found that their boarder had had 
quite a delightful walk. 

By ten o’clock the Massanets were all ready and 
bound for church. 

When the congregation was dismissed, Richard 
and Frank hurried home ahead, wishing to see if 
Pep had come. 

They found the street urchin waiting for them at 
the door. He was very pale and nearly out of breath. 

“ I was thinkin’ you’d never come!” he gasped. 
“I run all de way, and went upstairs, but couldn’t 
find nobody.” 

“ What’s the matter ? ” cried Richard. “ Is your 
father worse ? ” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


191 


“Yes, indeed ; a heap worse. I was thinkin’ he 
was goin’ to croak last night.” 

“ I’ll go right down with you.” 

“Shall I go, too?” put in Frank hesitatingly. 
“ I’ll go willingly if you want me.” 

“ I dunno,” replied Pep slowly. “ Dad don’t want 
no visitors. I was only going to get Mr. Dare. 
But I reckon you can come. Dad won’t know de 
difference. He ain’t right here.” 

And the street urchin tapped his forehead signi- 
ficantly. 

Rushing upstairs, Frank got out a basket and filled 
it with a number of things that Mrs. Massanet and 
Mattie had prepared. He was down again in a mo- 
ment, and then the three, guided by Pep, hurried 
off. 

It was far down on the east side, through streets 
that are narrow, dirty and notorious for crimes of 
all kinds, that the hoy led them. 

“ ’Tain’t no nice walk to take,” he said, “and 
you’re dressed too good to go through here after 
dark. If you come ag’in put on yer old clo’es ; da 
won’t notice you so much.” 

“I’m glad that your sister isn’t along,” said 
Richard to Frank, with a shudder. “I never 
dreamed of a place as wretched as this.” 

Mattie knows how bad it is,” returned Frank, 


192 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“In her mission class she has several children from 
the Italian quarter, and that’s every bit as bad as 
this. ” 

“ Here we are,” remarked Pep, as they came to a 
narrow court. “ Dis is my street. Da calls it de 
Fryin’ Pan, ’cause one of de houses took fire last 
year and ten people were burnt up. ” 

On this Sunday morning the Frying Pan was 
alive with people, Jewish tailors and cloakmakers, 
who were enjoying a bit of needed rest. They filled 
the doorways and the steps, and down on the pave- 
ment the children ran around, shouting and playing 
games. 

Picking their way among the latter and the 
heaps of dirt and streams of filthy water on all 
sides, the two boys followed Pep to the end of the 
court. Curious eyes gazed after them, and open 
remarks concerning their presence in that locality 
were not wanting. 

But to these the two paid no attention, though 
both were glad enough to escape into the hall- 
way of the tenement to which the street hoy led 
them. 

“Look out for de stairway,” cautioned Pep, as 
they ascended the first flight. “ It’s mighty rotten, 
and you kin break a leg widout half tryin’.” 

Up and up they went, until finally they stopped 


OH, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


193 


at the door of a room on the top floor and in the 
rear. 

“ Here we are,” whispered Pep. “ Let me go in 
alone first, and see how he is.” 

The street urchin opened the door and went inside. 
In a moment he reappeared. 

“ He’s asleep,” he said. “ You can come in.” 

The room was part of a garret, with a sloping 
side and a dormer window. Opposite was a large 
brick chimney with an open fireplace. Near it lay 
a mattress on the floor, and upon this rested a 
man. 

He was apparently nearly fifty years of age. His 
face and form were terribly shrunken, and his 
untrimmed hair and beard and generally untidy 
appearance made him a repulsive object indeed. 

“ That’s him, ” whispered Pep. “ Glad he’s asleep. 
Hope he don’t raise no row when he wakes up.” 

Just then the man turned and moaned to himself. 

“ Water ! Water ! ” he cried. 

“ Have you any ? ” asked Richard. 

“Yes, but ’tain’t fresh,” replied Pep. “I’ll get 
some.” 

And catching up a pail, he ran out of the room 
and down the stairs. 

“ That man has a raging fever,” declared Frank, 

after a careful look at the sufferer. 

13 


194 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ There ought to be more ventilation here,” said 
Richard, “I’m going to open that window.” 

For the dormer window, the only one in the place, 
was tightly closed. 

It was no easy job. The window had probably 
not been opened for some time, and stuck obsti- 
nately. Finally it went up with a bang, and a 
draught of fresh air swept into the place. 

“It’s a pretty stiff breeze,” remarked Frank; 
“ but too much is certainly better than too little.” 

The noise had aroused the sick man, and, open- 
ing his eyes, he stared at the two boys. 

“ Ah, I’ve caught you ! ” he cried. “ Pep ! Pep ! 
Bind them — don’t let ’em get away Where’s the 
water ? — 

“ Water, water everywhere, 

Upon the deep blue sea ; 

Water, water, here and there, 

But not a drop for me ! 

“ That used to be Doc’s favorite song. Why 
don’t you give poor Tom a drink ? Where’s Betty ? 
She’ll give her brother what he wants. Oh, Pep, 
Pep, don’t leave your dad to die of thirst ! ” 

Richard uttered an exclamation, and grasped 
Frank’s arm. 

“ That man is Tom Clover ! ” he gasped. “ He is 
Doc Linyard’s lost brother-in-law ! ” 


OB, STRIKING OUT FOB HIMSELF. 


195 


CHAPTER XXW 

TOM CLOVER. 

For a moment Richard could not realize the dis- 
covery that he had made. Could this weak, delir- 
ious man be Doc Linyard’s brother-in-law, the one 
for whom the old sailor had been searching so dil- 
igently and so unsuccessfully ? 

If such was the fact then his visit to Frying Pan 
Court would undoubtedly be productive of more 
than one good result. 

4 4 What makes you think he is the man ? ” 
asked Frank Massanet, with considerable astonish- 
ment. 

44 Because he mentioned his own name as Tom, 
and I know Betty is the sailor’s wife’s name,” re- 
plied Richard. 

44 He doesn’t look very respectable,” went on 
Frank. 4 4 He isn’t a relative for even a man like 
Mr. Linyard to be proud of.” 

4 4 He may look better after he’s shaved and 
washed and fixed up a bit,” returned Richard ; 


196 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

“that is, if he gets well,” he added, in sudden 
alarm. 

“Pep, Pep,” went on the sufferer, “where’s the 
water ? ” 

“Here you are, dad, nice and fresh,” and Pep 
entered with his pail full. “Whew! but he does 
drink a pile ! ” he added to the two, as he held a 
cup to his father’s lips. 

“I’ve brought something you can give him,” said 
Frank, going to his basket and depositing the arti- 
cles upon a rickety table that stood in a corner. 

“And we’ll send a doctor around here, too,” he 
added. “You haven’t had one lately, I guess.” 

“Not this week. He charged too much, and he 
wouldn’t come if I didn’t pay aforehand,” replied 
the street urchin. 

4 ‘ Pep, what is your full name ? ” asked Richard 
abruptly. 

The boy was silent. 

“ Why won’t you tell me ? I don’t want to hurt 
you.” 

“Dad said afore he got sick he didn’t want 
people to know it ; that’s why,” exclaimed Pep 
finally. 

“ Why not ? He’s honest, I’m sure.” 

“ Honest ? Bet yer he is ! But he don’t want 
his old friends to know how he’s come down.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 197 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Richard, a new light breaking 
in upon him. 

“ Then you were better off once ? ” 

“’Deed we were when marm was alive, and sister 
Mary. When they died dad went on a spree — the 
first and last one — and spent what money was 
left after the bills was paid. Then he sold 
our stuff and we came here, and I got into the 
streets.” 

“ How long ago is that ? ” 

“ ’Most three years. It’s been tough times since 
then.” 

And Pep suddenly raised his coat sleeve to wipe 
away two big tears that had started to come down 
his cheeks. 

“Did you ever know anything of an Uncle 
Doc ? ” asked Richard suddenly. 

Pep gave a cry. 

“ What do you know of my Uncle Doc ? ” he ex- 
claimed trembling. “Oh, Mr. Dare, did he — did 
he ” 

“What ? Send me here ? No ; but he is looking 
all over for your father. Then your name is Pep 
Clover ? ” 

“Yes, sir. But how did you find it out ? ” 

“ Your father’s talking led me to think so. I’m 
glad I found you for there is money coming to 


198 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

your father. How much I don’t know, but quite 
some.” 

“ Money coming to him?” Pep’s eyes opened 
widely. Then suddenly his face fell. “ Yer foolin’ 
me.” 

“No, I’m not. It’s money from an uncle in 
England, left to your father and your Aunt Betty.” 

Pep gave a whoop. “ Hooray ! ” he cried, with a 
wild fling of his arms. “How much is it? As 
much as twenty — as fifty dollars ? ” 

“Yes, a good many fifty dollars,” replied Richard 
with a smile. 

“ And kin dad have a nuss and medicine ? Maybe 
they’ll let him in the hospital if he pays, hey ? And 
I’ll get some new clo’es, and then they’ll let me come 
and see him. ” 

Pep rattled on as if the idea of sudden wealth had 
turned his head. 

“I’ll go and tell your uncle,” said Richard at 
length. “I know it will be a big surprise to 
him.” 

“Kin you find the way from here and back?” 
asked Pep anxiously. 

“ I don’t know,” replied Richard doubtfully. “ I 
wish you could come along.” 

“ I would, only ” and the urchin pointed to the 

mattress. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 199 

“Go ahead,’’ put in Frank. “I’ll tend to him 
while you are gone, I don’t think I’ll have any 
trouble.” 

“ Dad gets mighty cranky sometimes,” returned 
Pep, with a doubtful shake of his head. 

“Never mind; I’ll manage it. You won’t be 
gone over an hour, I guess,” added the stock-clerk 
to Richard. 

“ I think not ; that is, if we can find Doc Lin- 
yard. His place is no doubt shut up and he may he 
away. ” 

A moment later Richard, accompanied by Pep, 
went down into the court and made their way to 
the street beyond. The urchin was all eager expec- 
tation, and if it had not been for Richard, for whom 
it was hard work to keep up as it was, he would 
have run the entire way. 

In a few minutes they were down on the Bowery, 
and passing Park Row, the only lively spot in lower 
New York on Sunday, they crossed Fulton Street 
and so on down to West. 

As Richard had anticipated, the Watch Below was 
closed. Doc Linyard did not keep his place open on 
Sunday, excepting for an hour or two early in the 
morning. 

“ I’ll have to see if I can knock him up,” he said to 
Pep. 


200 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


And raising his foot he kicked several times on 
the lower portion of the door. 

“ Something like the first night, when I got lost,” 
he thought to himself. “What changes have 
occurred since then ! ” 

Bichard repeated his kicking, and presently there 
were sounds of footsteps within, the turning of - a 
key in the lock, and then the door opened cautiously, 
revealing Mrs. Linyard. 

“ Oh, it’s you ! ” she exclaimed. “ Come in ! I 
was afraid it might he some drunken man ; there’s 
so many here of a Sunday, trying to get in.” 

“Aunt Betty, don’t you know me!” piped up 
Pep’s voice, all in a tremble. 

Mrs. Linyard turned and surveyed the street 
urchin eagerly. 

“Mercy me ! if it hain’t Tom’s boy ! ” she ejacu- 
lated. “Where in the world did you come from ? ” 

“ Mr. Dare brought me,” replied Pep. 

Mrs. Linyard caught him up in her arms. 

“ Who’d a believed it ! ” she cried. “ Mr. Dare a 
doing of it. Why, you’re as dirty as a pig ! Where’s 
your dad and your marm and sister Mary ? ” 

“Dad’s sick.' We just left him. Marm and 
Mary are dead. Mr. Dare says you’ve got money 
for dad. I’m so glad, ’cause he’s sick.” 

“ Mother and Mary dead ! ” The sad news brought 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


201 


the tears to the woman’s eyes. “ Poor dear ! Poor 
Tom ! ” 

“ Mr. Clover is very sick,” said Richard. “He 
has no one to care for him hut Pep. Is Mr. Linyard 
at home ? ” 

“ Yes ; taking his nap on the sofa. I’ll call him 
— or no, come up. My, what a surprise ’twill be for 
him ! He’d about given up.” 

Taking Pep by the hand Mrs. Linyard led the way 
up to her “best room,” where her husband lay 
sound asleep on a lounge. 

“ Get up, Doc ! ” she cried, shaking him vigor- 
ously. “ Get up ! Here’s your nevvy ; and Mr. 
Dare has found Tom ! Just think of it — he’s found 
Tom ! Wake up, Doc ! Was ever there such a 
man ! To keep on sleeping with such good news to 
hear ! ” 


202 


BICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


CHAPTEE XXVI. 

A SCENE IN THE STOCK-ROOM. 

But Doc Linyard did not sleep for any great 
length of time after his good wife began to shake 
him. A moment later he sprang up, rubbing his 
eyes. 

“Ship ahoy!” he cried heartily. “What’s up, 
what’s the trouble ? ” Then catching sight of 
Eichard and Pep : “ Hello, visitors ! How are you, 
Dare ? ” 

“ Here’s Tom’s son,” repeated Mrs. Linyard. 
“Mr. Dare has found Tom.” 

“What!” The old sailor looked at the street 
urchin. “ Bless my heart if it hain't Tom’s son ! 
Well, well, Dare ; this is better than getting them 
letters back.” And he took hold of Pep with both 
hands. 

Eichard had it on his tongue’s end to say that 
Pep was the one who had taken the letters in the 
first place, but a second thought made him keep 
silent. It would do no good to tell, and he would 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


203 


be willing to vouch for the boy’s honesty in the 
future. 

Richard’s story, as well as Pep’s, was soon told, 
and then Doc Linyard and his wife prepared to 
accompany the two back to Frying Pan Court. 

“ I’m glad I’ve got a little money saved,” said the 
old sailor to Richard, as they hurried across town. 
“Poor Tom shan’t want for anything while there’s 
a shot left in the locker. It’s funny he wouldn’t let 
us know his condition.” 

“He was alters sensitive,” put in Mrs. Linyard, 
“ and I suppose coming down made him more so.” 

It was not long before the little party reached the 
dingy garret room where the sufferer lay. Frank 
received them with a warning for silence. He said 
he had had quite a turn with the sick man, but now 
Mr. Clover had dropped back exhausted and was 
dozing. 

Mrs. Linyard wept bitterly as she knelt beside 
the form of her sick brother. Yet she was thank- 
ful that he had been found, and her gratitude to 
Richard was outspoken and genuine. 

It was decided that the sick man should be at 
once removed to one of the private wards of a 
neighboring hospital, where Mrs. Linyard might see 
him daily ; and then have him taken to her own 
home as soon as it was deemed safe to do so. 


204 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


Frank, who was somewhat acquainted with the 
methods of procedure, accompanied the old sailor to 
the institution and helped him to make the neces- 
sary arrangements. 

Half an hour later an ambulance drove into Fry- 
ing Pan Court. Tom Clover was removed with the 
greatest of care, the garret room was locked up, 
and Pep, like one in a dream, went off with his 
newly- found uncle. 

It was nearly sundown when the two boys reached 
the Massanets’ again. 

“ How long you’ve been ! ” exclaimed Mattie, who 
let them in. 

“ And we’ve had quite an adventure,” replied her 
brother. 

“Ees zat so?” put in Mrs. Massanet. “You 
must tell ett, Francois.” 

“ I will, mother,” replied Frank. “But Richard 
will have to help ; it’s really his story.” 

“Then both go ahead,” cried Mattie. “Only do 
go ahead. I am dying to hear ! ” 

Of course Mrs. Massanet as well as Mattie was 
highly interested in the boys’ story, and both were 
deeply touched at the account of Frying Pan Court 
and the scene in the little garret room. 

“ I want to know little Pep,” said Mattie. “ He 
is too bright a chap to run the streets.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 205 

“ I guess Doc Linyard won’t let him do that any 
more,” returned Richard. “ Especially if he gets 
that money he’s expecting from England. ” 

“ That sailor didn’t lose anything by being kind 
to you,” remarked Frank. “I declare you deserve 
a reward.” 

‘ ‘ If only some old soldier would turn up, so that 
you could get your father’s pension,” went on Mat- 
tie, “ that would be better than a reward.” 

“ You’re right,” replied Richard. “Even if we 
only got a thousand dollars it would help along 
wonderfully at home.” 

Monday morning found the two hard at work in 
the stock-room. About ten o’clock Mr. Mann came 
up, and beckoned to Richard to come to one 
corner. 

“ I want to find out about an order that was 
shipped on the tenth to Pittsburgh,” he said, when 
they were alone. “ There is something wrong 
about it. You were here by yourself on that day. 
Do you remember it ? ” 

“To Pittsburgh?” repeated Richard slowly. 
“Yes, I do. Mr. Williams filled that order.” 

“ Mr. Williams ! ” Mr. Mann looked surprised. 
“ I don’t understand.” 

“Mr. Williams came up here while I was alone 
and offered to help me. I said that the Pittsburgh 


206 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

order I couldn’t read very well ; so he took it and 
filled it. He will probably remember it.” 

“ Probably he will,” replied Mr. Mann, “and in 
that case the trouble is certainly all downstairs. 
You need not mention this occurrence to any 
one.” 

Mr. Mann went below ; and there were no more 
interruptions for that day. But trouble was in the 
air, and on the following day the climax came. 

Richard was alone in the stock-room, Frank 
having just gone below on business. There was a 
clatter on the stairs, and turning to see what was 
the matter Richard confronted Earle Norris. 

The shipping-clerk was pale, but his manner 
showed that he was also angry, whether reasonably 
or not remained to he seen. 

“You little greenhorn, you ! ” he cried. “ What 
do you mean by getting me into trouble ? ” 

“I don’t know as I have,” replied Richard, as 
coolly as he could ; and, not wishing to engage in a 
personal encounter, he very wisely placed several 
cases between himself and his angry accuser. 

“Yes, you have!” roared Norris. “You told 
Mr. Mann that that order from Pittsburgh was sent 
down all right, and that if any of the goods were 
changed they were changed downstairs.” 

“I told no one anything of the kind,” replied 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


207 


Richard briefly, though he could readily understand 
the mistake under which Norris was laboring. 

“Yes, you did.” 

“No, I did not.” 

“Oh, come, I know better. If you didn’t, who 
did ? Massanet wasn’t here.” 

“That’s true, too ; but, nevertheless, I didn’t tell 
Mr. Mann.” 

“You’re a ” began the shipping-clerk passion- 

ately. 

“ Here ! here ! Stop that, Norris! ” came a voice 
from the elevator ; and the next instant Mr. Wil- 
liams stepped into the room. “ What do you mean 
by creating such a disturbance ? ” 

“Dare is trying to put up a job on me,” began 
the shipping-clerk. “ He told Mr. Mann that that 
order for Pittsburgh was sent down 0. K. and ” 

“ And so it was,” replied Mr. Williams calmly. 

“ No, sir ; it was ” 

“Hold up, Norris; there is no use of further 
words,” said Mr. Williams sharply. “You were 
discharged half an hour ago, and you had better 
leave. It was I that told Mr. Mann that the order 
had gone down all right, because I filled it myself. 
I suspected you for a long time, and I wanted to 
find out the truth. Dare and Massanet are entirely 
innocent in the matter. I have much more inf or- 


208 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


mation against you — and also a book-dealer who has 
sold you old hooks and bought your new ones — but 
we will let that drop. I have learned that your 
family is quite a respectable one. For their sake, as 
well as your own, I advise you to turn over a new 
leaf. You can go.” 

For an instant Norris hesitated. Then he turned, 
and without a word of reply hurried down the stairs. 

Richard breathed a sigh of relief when he was 
gone. 

“ I am sorry he placed you two up here in such 
a false position,” said Mr. Williams to Richard. 
“ Please tell Massanet of it, too. Neither of you 
shall lose anything by it.” 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


209 


CHAPTER XXVII. 

A FIRE AND ITS RESULT. 

As one proof of Williams & Mann’s good inten- 
tions towards Richard, the boy found his salary on 
the following week increased to eight dollars, and 
Frank received a proportionate addition to his pay. 

In the middle of the week a new shipping-clerk, 
a German by the name of Bretzwartz, was engaged, 
and, though everybody in the establishment found 
it hard at first to understand the young man’s broken 
English, yet he was such a jolly fellow — as well as 
an honest and capable one — that he was soon on 
good terms all around. 

During the evenings of this week Richard wrote 
a great number of letters to the Grand Army and 
other military organizations, in the hope of finding 
some one who had known his father during the war 
or immediately after it. 

On Thursday evening Frank accompanied him to 
the neighborhood in which Mr. Dare had once re- 
sided ; but, though the two spent nearly three hours 
14 


210 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

in the search, no trace of any former acquaintance 
was found. 

“You see it’s different here from what it is in the 
country,” said Frank, when they were returning. 
“ Here you often find that people don’t know who 
lives next door, or even in the same house with 
them. It sounds queer, but it’s true. No one is in- 
troduced, no one is sociable, and the majority are 
continually moving, in the hope of finding a better 
dwelling or cheaper rent.” 

“Yes, I noticed that,” replied Richard, with 
something like a sigh. “ Out in the country every- 
body knows everybody else, and outside of a few 
prim people all are as sociable as can be. But I 
suppose if one wants to make money one must 
expect to give up some comforts.” 

“ You’re right there,” replied Frank. 

During the week Pep met them twice on the 
Bowery. He was cleanly washed, had his curly hair 
brushed, and wore a brand-new suit. In his al- 
tered appearance Richard hardly knew him. 

“Dad’s better,” was the urchin’s reply to the 
boy’s question. “ Uncle Doc is going to take him 
out of de hospital next week, so as Aunt Betty can 
nurse him herself. She’s awful kind, she is.*’ 

“And how do you like the change?” asked 
Frank. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


211 


“ I feel like I was dreamin’,” was Pep’s answer. 
“ It don’t seem natural — these clo’es and that nice 
home. It’s like de times long ago.” 

“ Are you selling papers yet ?” asked Richard. 

“ No, sir. Uncle Doc says I’m to go to school in a 
week or so. He says I must have an eddication, and 
he’s going to help dad get his money and invest it 
so it’s safe, and all that. Here’s yer dollar.” 

As Pep concluded, he suddenly dived into one of 
the pockets of his new trousers, and, after consider^ 
able difficulty, extricated a silver dollar. 

“Never mind, Pep, you can keep it,” said Rich- 
ard, yet well pleased to see the urchin’s evident de- 
sire to right the wrong he had done. 

“No, no, it’s yours,” exclaimed Pep earnestly. 
“I won’t keep it nohow. And say,” he added in a 
whisper, “ I’m awful glad you didn’t say nothin’ to 
me uncle of it. It’s de first time I stole anything, 
and it’s the last, too, and I wouldn’t have Uncle Doc 
or Aunt Betty know it for de world. ” 

“You can make sure they shall never hear of it,” 
returned Richard, as, after more urging, he took 
the coin. “I can understand how desperate you 
felt that morning we met at the newspaper office, 
and we’ll let the whole matter drop.” 

“Thank you, sir.” 

And Pep felt much relieved. 


212 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“You must come up Sunday,” put in Frank 
“ Come up to dinner, same as you were going to.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Massanet, I will,” replied 
Pep. “ My uncle expects both of you down soon, 
too.” 

And they separated, Pep being on his way to Fry- 
ing Pan Court to get a few treasured belongings 
that still remained there. 

Early the following morning Richard and Frank 
started for the store together. It was a clear, but 
windy day, thick clouds of dust flying in all direc- 
tions. As they passed the entrance to the Brooklyn 
Bridge, a fire engine dashed past, on its way down 
the street. 

“Hello! there’s a fire somewhere!” exclaimed 
Frank. 

“ Can we go to it ?” cried Richard. He had not 
yet seen a conflagration in the city, and was anx- 
ious to see how such a thing would be handled. 
Frank looked at his watch. 

“We’ve got twenty-five minutes,” he replied. 
“ Come on ; if it’s in the neighborhood we can take 
a look at it.” 

Both boys started off on a run. They reached 
Spruce Street, and followed the engine around the 
corner. 

A dense volume of black smoke greeted them. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 213 

The crowd was thick, and the two had hard work 
making their way forward. 

“It's our place /” cried out Frank suddenly. 
“ And the whole store is afire, too ! ” 

“ Our place ! ” ejaculated Eichard. “ Oh, I hope 
not ! 55 

But it was only too true, and in a moment they 
stood opposite the establishment of Williams & 
Mann, now all blaze from top to bottom. 

“ Stand back there!” exclaimed a burly police- 
man, waving his club at both boys. “ Stand back.” 

a We work in the place,” explained Frank. 

“ Can’t help it,” was the reply. “The insurance 
patrol has charge of the goods. You’ll have to get out 
of the way. Lively, there ! ” added the officer, as a 
hook and ladder truck came dashing up the street. 

So Richard and Frank fell back into the crowd, 
and were immediately joined by Bretzwartz, the 
German shipping-clerk. 

“I guess the place is a goner,” remarked Frank, 
as the flames shot out of the upper windows. 

“Wonder how it caught ?” said Richard. 

“ Der poiler in der pasement busted,” put in Bretz- 
wartz. “Ichust come, and vos putting on mine 
odder coat ven I heard an explosion vich knock me 
mine feets off, and I rund out like I vos killed, and 
der whole place was on fire in two seconds already.” 


214 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Was Larry killed ?” asked Frank. 

Larry was the engineer and porter around the 
place. 

“No, he vos out, getting a pite to eat,” replied 
the shipping-clerk. 

Despite the efforts of the firemen, the flames 
made rapid progress, and in an hour the “fire- 
proof ” building was known to he doomed. Both 
of the heads of the firm had been sent for, and Mr. 
Williams soon put in an appearance. 

He was pale and excited, and shook his head 
sadly when his many employees offered their serv- 
ices in any way they could be used. 

“We can do nothing at present,” he said. “ The 
insurance companies have entire charge.” 

“ I hope you are covered, Mr. Williams,” said 
Richard earnestly. 

“ Very nearly so,” was the reply. “The stop to 
business will he our worst loss. There is no telling 
when we will he able to resume. I only trust the 
accounts in the safes are all right.” 

By noon the fire was under control. It had burnt 
itself out, and all that remained of the establish- 
ment was its four scorched walls, and the mass of 
half burned stock and fixtures within. Part of the 
stock had been saved, and this was transferred to 
an empty store near by. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


215 


The boys assisted in this work until late in the 
evening, and also all day Saturday. 

In the middle of Saturday afternoon Mr. Mann 
came to them and paid them their week’s wages. 

“You had both better find other places,” he said. 
“We have got into difficulty with the insurance 
companies, and it may be soma time before our 
claim is adjusted. Besides, Mr. Williams speaks of 
retiring, and in that case I will probably join some 
other firm,” 

This was dismaying news. Yet neither could 
blame Mr. Mann, though it threw them both out of 
employment without notice. 

“You may help us here next week,” went on Mr. 
Mann. “ But next Saturday will finish the job. 
I will give both of you first-class recommendations, 
and if I hear of any openings will let you know.” 

And Mr. Mann went away to carry his news to 
the other clerks. 

“ It’s too bad,” said Frank, when he was gone. 
“ It won’t be an easy job to find another place.” 

“No, indeed,” replied Richard. “ Still, we can’t 
complain of the way they have treated us.” 

Both of the boys wore sober faces that night. 
To Richard came the ever- recurring, thought, what 
next ? 


216 


EICHAED daee’s ventuee; 


CHAPTER XXVIII. 

A LUCKY RESOLVE. 

“Well, Richard, we are gentlemen of leisure 
now.” 

It was Frank who spoke, and the occasion was 
the Monday morning following their final week 
with Williams & Mann. 

“Yes ; but it doesn’t suit me in the least,” re- 
turned Richard. “ To he idle is the hardest work I 
can do. Have you anything in view ? ” 

“ Not a thing. I put in twelve applications last 
week to as many different houses, hut as yet I 
haven’t heard from a single one.” 

“ What do you intend to do ? ” 

“ I hardly know. I don’t think it will pay to 
make any personal applications.” 

“I’m going to try it,” returned Richard, reso- 
lutely. “ They can’t say any more than no, and 
each no will save just two cents in postage if 
nothing else.” 

“When do you intend to start out,” asked 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 217 

Frank, who could not help admiring Richard’s 
pluck. 

“ In about an hour. It is too early yet to catch 
the heads of the firms. ” 

“ Going to start at any particular place ?” 

“Yes.” 

“Where ? — or perhaps you don’t care to tell,” 
added Frank hastily. 

“Yes, I do,” replied Richard, smiling quietly. 
“I am going to try the stationer on the corner.” 

“Who? Martin? Why, he has such a small 
store I’m sure he doesn’t need help. He and his son 
and a boy do all the business.” 

“Never mind. I made up my mind to stop at 
every place, and his is the first on the route ; so I’ll 
call, if only for the principle of the thing.” 

“ That’s an idea ! ” cried Frank. “You are 
bound to have a place if there is a single one vacant. 
Well, Dick, I trust with all my heart that you’ll 
succeed,” he added warmly. 

“You had better start out, too, Frank.” 

“Oh — I — I don’t think it’s much use,” said the 
other hesitatingly. 

“Oh, yes, it is, and you know it. Now confess 
that it is only your lack of ‘ nerve ’ that keeps you 
from it.” 

Frank colored slightly. 


218 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

“Well, I guess it is,” he admitted. “I never 
was a good hand at approaching people.” 

“Then you ought to break yourself in at once. 
Just break the ice and you’ll have no further trou- 
ble. I remember just how bad I felt when I first 
came to New York to look for work But I’m over 
it now, thank goodness ! ” 

And truth to tell in the past few weeks Bichard 
had lost much of his former shyness 

Frank Massanet was silent for a moment. 

“ I guess I will,” he said finally. “ I’ll start out 
and have the thing over at once. Which way do 
you intend to go — up or down ? ” 

“ I thought I would try down town first.” 

“ Then I’ll go up. We can compare notes at 
supper-time.” 

“So we can. I hope we both have luck,” said 
Bichard. 

But he did not feel particularly elated over the 
prospects. His former search for employment had 
convinced him that desirable situations were rarely 
to be had — there was always some one on hand to 
fill a vacancy as soon as it occurred. 

He felt, however, that he must obtain employ- 
ment of some kind, and that quickly. The small 
amount of money he had in hand would not last 
him long, and though kind-hearted Mrs. Massanet 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 219 

might be willing to let him remain awhile without 
paying hoard, he knew that now, with her son idle, 
the good woman could not afford so generous a 
course. 

Richard had not gone to see Mr. Joyce as yet. 
He hesitated for several reasons. In the first place 
the leather merchant had been so kind to him that 
the hoy felt it would be encroaching upon good nat- 
ure to solicit further aid, and in the second place, 
Mr. Joyce must know he was out of a place, and 
would help him if he could, without being bothered 
about it. 

“ I won’t go to him until after I’ve done all I can 
for myself,” had been Richard’s conclusion. “I 
would rather show him that I can help myself.” 

Richard had written home about the fire, and had 
added that he would probably lose his place in con- 
sequence, but he had not sent word home that he 
was now idle, thinking it would be time enough to 
do so when he found himself unable to obtain an- 
other situation. 

The store to which Richard had referred was a 
small but neat one, situated upon the corner of the 
street in which the Massanets lived and Second 
Avenue. It was kept by Jonas Martin, an elderly 
man, and his son, James. The stock consisted 
principally of books and stationery, although the 


220 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


proprietors also kept papers and magazines, for 
which there was a steady daily demand. 

“I suppose there is hardly any use in striking 
him,” thought Richard, as he entered the store. 
“But I said every place, so here goes.” 

He found the elderly Mr. Martin behind a desk, 
writing a letter. The storekeeper’s face wore a 
troubled look. 

“ Good- morning,” began Richard. “ Is this Mr. 
Martin ? ” 

“ That’s my name,” was the reply. “ What can 
I do for you ? ” 

“I am looking for a place, sir. I worked for 
Williams & Mann, but they burned out, as, no 
doubt you know, and that threw me out of work. 
Have you anything open ? I can furnish good 
recommendations. ” 

Richard had carefully rehearsed this little speech, 
and now delivered it so that his hearer might un- 
derstand every word that was uttered. 

Mr. Martin looked at him sharply, and then 
rubbed his chin reflectively. 

“What made you think I needed help?” he 
asked. 

“ Oh, I don’t know, sir. Every proprietor needs 
help at one time or another, and I’ve made up my 
mind to find a place if there is any open.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


221 


“You have recommendations, you say ? ” 

“Yes, sir.” 

And Kichard handed over those he had received 
from Williams & Mann. 

Mr. Martin read them carefully. 

“ It seems to be all right,” he said, as he handed 
back the paper. “If I thought you would answer 
my purpose I would look you up.” 

“Then you need help ?” asked Richard, quickly, 
glad to think he had struck an opening with so 
little trouble. 

“Yes, I do. My son James who helps me is sick 
in Philadelphia, and consequently I have only the 
errand hoy to relieve me. It is too much for me 
and I must get a clerk. 

“I would like you to try me,” said Richard 
eagerly. “I would do my best to suit, even if the 
place was only a temporary one.” 

“ It might be permanent. The business is grow- 
ing. But of course when my son came back I could 
not pay a clerk so much. ” 

“ How much would you pay now?” 

“ How much do you expect ?” asked Mr. Martin 
cautiously. 

“ I was getting eight dollars a week at my last 
place.” 

“ I would be willing to pay that. But I want some 


222 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


one who is trustworthy and willing to learn. Have 
you other recommendations ? ” 

“ I can refer you to Mr. Timothy Joyce/’ replied 
Richard ; and he wrote down the leather merchant’s 
name and address on a bit of wrapping paper. 

Mr. Martin looked at the neat handwriting. 

“Gome round to-morrow morning this time,” he 
said. “I will look up the references this afternoon 
and if I find them satisfactory you can come to work 
at once.” 

“ Thank you, sir. Good-morning.” 

By this time there were two customers waiting, 
so not wishing to detain the storekeeper longer, 
Richard nodded pleasantly and left the place. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


223 


CHAPTER XXIX. 

FRANK’S IDEA. 

“ That’s what I call luck ! ” thought Richard, as 
he hurried back to the Massanets’ home. “ I’m 
mighty glad I called on Mr. Martin. He seems to 
be a gentleman and will no doubt do what is right. 
I hope Frank has been equally fortunate.” 

Mrs. Massanet was surprised to see him returning 
so soon. 

“ What ees eet ? ” she asked, anxiously. “ I hope 
you no deesheartened a’ready ? ” 

“No, indeed!” returned the boy; and he told 
her of his good fortune. 

“Zat ees nice!” exclaimed the Frenchwoman. 
“ I hope you gits zee place widout trouble.” 

And then she gave a little sigh as she thought of 
her son’s uncertain search. 

“Maybe Frank will be as lucky,” said Richard, 
who fancied he could read her thoughts. 

“I sincerely hope so,” returned Mrs. Massanet. 

Not having anything special to do for the rest of 


224 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


the day, Richard sat down and wrote a long letter 
home. He intended not to send it until the follow- 
ing day, when he could add a postscript that the 
new place was positively his. 

Five weeks in the great metropolis had worked 
wonders in the boy. He no longer looked or felt 
“ green,” and he was fast acquiring a business way 
that was bound, sooner or later, to be highly bene- 
ficial to him. 

In these five weeks he had received several letters 
from friends and not a few from home, the most 
important news in all of them being the announce- 
ment of his sister Grace’s engagement to Charley 
Wood, and baby Madge’s first efforts to master her 
A B C’s. 

“ I wish I could afford to bring them all to New 
York,” had been Richard’s thought. “ Or else near 
enough so that I could go home to them every night. 
It would be so pleasant to have them around me. 
Perhaps some day I can afford to get a little cottage 
right near the city, which would be nicest of all ; 
for I am sure mother would like to have a garden, 
even if it was a small one.” 

His letter for home finished, Richard spent an 
hour or more in the preparation of an advertisement 
which he intended to insert in one of the army 
journals on the following week. The advertisement 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


225 


gave his father’s full name, company, regiment 
and so forth, and asked for the address of any one 
who had known him during the war, with promise 
of reward for information. 

By the above it is easy to see that Richard was 
now in earnest about getting his father’s pension 
money. Not only was he satisfied that they were 
entitled to it, but just now when his mother and 
sisters were struggling in Mossvale to make both 
ends meet, it was actually needed. 

During the time that he had been working Rich- 
ard had sent home every cent that he could spare. 
To be sure, the total amount had not been large — 
only a few dollars — but in the country this went a 
long way, and for it, as well as for the fact that it 
showed the son and brother’s willingness to help, 
those at home were extremely grateful. 

It was dinner-time when Richard had finished 
writing out the advertisement. Mrs. Massanet had 
prepared only a lunch, reserving a regular meal for 
the evening. 

After he had eaten the time hung heavy upon 
Richard’s hands. He put on his hat and sauntered 
down the street, and finally concluded to pay a visit 
to his friends at the Watch Below. He had not 
seen Doc Linyard since that visit to Frying Pan 

Court, and he was curious to know how Tom 

15 


226 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


Clover was, and if the property in England had 
been heard from further. 

It being the middle of the afternoon, trade at the 
small restaurant was slack, and Richard found both 
the old sailor and his wife glad to see him. 

“ Tom’s mendin’ fast,” was the old sailor’s reply 
to Richard’s question concerning the sick man. 
u We are goin’ to bring him down here to-morrow 
or the day after. He’s in his bearings again— 
right mind, you know — and I think as how the 
worst is over.” 

“ And where is Pep ? ” 

“ Pep’s to school ; I sent him last week. He’s got 
to have an eddication, no two ways on it. Betty’s 
goin’ to manage it with Tom when he is well.” 

“ I am glad to hear that. And how about your 
property ? ” 

“ Oh, it’s safe. Last week I run afoul of an old 
lawyer friend of mine — saved his life onct in a blow 
off Cape Hatteras — and he’s taken it in tow. He’s 
written to the lawyers on the tudder side and we’re 
to fix it up just as soon as Tom’s strong enough to 
sign articles.” 

“ Good enough,” said Richard, heartily. 

During the course of the conversation which fol- 
lowed he told Doc Linyard of his hopes of finding 
some one who had known his father during the war. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


227 


“ Tom is an old soldier ! ” exclaimed Doc. “ He 
took to the army and I took to the navy.” 

“ Is that so ? What regiment was he in ? ” 

“I don’t know. He was in Boston at the time, 
and was drafted from there.” 

“ My father went from here. But he might be 
able to put me on some sort of a track,” added 
Richard, who was unwilling to let even the small- 
est chance escape him. 

“I’ll ask him about it when he’s strong enough. 
How much would the pension money amount to ? ” 

“Not less than a thousand dollars — perhaps twice 
that.” 

“Phew ! It’s worth workin’ for.” 

“Yes, indeed !” put in Mrs. Linyard. “I hope 
you get it, Mr. Dare ; you deserve it.” 

When Richard returned to his boarding-place he 
met Frank Massanet at the door. He could see by 
his friend’s face that he had not met with success. 

“I tried twenty-six places,” reported Frank. 
“ Every one had all the help needed. One man of- 
fered to put me on the road, selling goods on com- 
mission, but I was to pay my own expenses. The 
offer didn’t appear good and I declined it. How 
did you make out ? ” 

Richard told him. Of course Frank was sur- 
prised. 


228 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


“ It wasn’t luck though,” he said, “ it was stick- 
ing to the principle you started out on. I trust it 
is a sure thing. It will give you an insight into 
the retail trade, so that you may start for yourself 
some day. I would start in for myself to-morrow, 
if I had the capital.” 

“Do you understand the retail business ? ” asked 
Eichard, with much interest. 

“ Pretty well. Last year and around the holi- 
days I tended during the evenings for a firm on 
Fourteenth Street, and I had a good chance to learn 
all the ins and outs. Besides, I was in the busi- 
ness when I went to school — carrying papers and 
parcels between school-hours. ” 

“ How much would you need to start ? ” 

“I’ve got six hundred dollars saved. If I had 
twice that I would’t be afraid to hire a store and 
try it.” 

“ Can’t you raise the other ? ” 

“I haven’t tried yet. I would rather use my 
own money — or take a partner, if I could find the 
right fellow.” 

“ I’d like to go in with you,” said Richard. “ I 
think we would get along first-rate together.” 

“I know we would,” cried Frank, enthusiastic- 
ally. “ Can’t you raise the money ? ” 

“I don’t think I can. I’ll think of it though.” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


229 


CHAPTEE XXX. 

MR. MARTIN’S CLERKS. 

The idea of some day going into partnership 
with Prank Massanet was an attractive one to 
Eichard. He felt that the stock-clerk would not 
venture into business on his own account unless he 
was moderately certain of success, and that would 
mean more money and a certain feeling of inde- 
pendence. 

Eichard was up early on the following morning 
and on hand at Mr. Martin’s store long before that 
gentleman put in an appearance. He found the 
place in charge of the boy, who was busy sorting 
out the morning papers and folding them. 

“ I’m waiting for Mr. Martin,” said Eichard, by 
way of an explanation for standing around. 

“Are you the new clerk?” asked Philip Borne, 
for such was the hoy’s name. 

“I expect to he,” replied Eichard. “Did Mr. 
Martin say anything about me ? ” 

“Said he expected to see you this morning. 


230 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


He’ll be here in about half an hour. He’s terribly 
worried* over his son Jim, who’s sick in Philadel- 
phia. The doctors telegraphed last evening that 
they were afraid he couldn’t live.” 

“It’s too bad. I trust, for Mr. Martin’s sake, 
they are mistaken.” 

In less than half an hour the proprietor put in an 
appearance. He looked even more worried than 
the day previous. 

“I am glad you are here, Dare,” he said. “I 
saw Mr. Williams last night and he gave you a 
good recommendation. But he was almost afraid 
you had not had enough experience in the retail 
trade to take charge, which just at present you 
would have to do, because I must go to Philadel- 
phia by the first afternoon train by the latest.” 

Richard’s hopes fell. 

“ I will do the best I can, Mr. Martin,” he said, 
earnestly. “ Although I’ll admit I thought to come 
here only to help, and ” 

“Yes, yes, I understand; and that is all right,” 
interrupted the storekeeper, hastily. “I expected 
to stay, up to last night, but now I must go. If I 
could only get some one here besides you, some one 
who understood customers. Phil can help some, 
but he is too young. ” 

“I know the very person ! ” exclaimed Richard. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


281 


“He has had just the experience you desire, and I 
can get him at once, too.” 

And Eichard told Mr. Martin about Frank Mas- 
sane t. 

“Ah, yes, Mr. Williams mentioned him to me. 
Do you think he can come to-day*? ” 

“Yes, sir. I’ll go at once and find out.” 

“Do so ; I’ll promise that you shall lose nothing 
by it,” returned Mr. Martin. 

In a moment Eichard was on his way back to the 
house. He found Frank just finishing breakfast. 

“Why, what’s up?” asked the stock-clerk. 
“What brings you back ? ” 

“Nothing only — I’ve got a situation for you,” 
replied Eichard as coolly as he could, although 
he could not suppress a hearty smile. 

“A situation for me!” ejaculated Frank, in 
undisguised wonder. “ Surely you don’t mean 
it!” 

“ Don’t I though ? Just come along and see.” 

“Where?” 

“At Martin’s.” 

“ But I thought you had accepted ” 

“One position. So I have, but there is another 
for you. Come along, I’ll tell you all about it on 
the way.” 

And Eichard got Frank’s hat and put it on his 


232 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


friend’s head and had him out on the street almost 
before he could realize it. 

At Mr. Martin’s store a general explanation fol- 
lowed, and Richard and Frank were hired at a joint 
salary of sixteen dollars per week. They were to 
have entire charge of the business, and with the aid 
of Phil were to do the best they could until they 
heard from Mr. Martin again, which the store- 
keeper hoped would be in a few days. The proprie- 
tor spent an hour in giving all the instructions he 
could in that limited time, and then, half dis- 
tracted, hurried off to catch an early train for Phil- 
adelphia. 

4 4 Well, this is a queer go, to say the least,” 
exclaimed Richard, after Mr. Martin had gone. 
44 It’s more like a dream than anything else.” 

44 He would never do as he has — leave two entire 
strangers in charge of his place — if he was not 
distracted by this had news about his son,” 
returned Frank; and he hit the exact truth. 

44 Well, now we are here, we must make the 
most of the opportunity,” said Richard. 4 4 Let us 
consider ourselves partners and push our business 
for all it is worth.” 

Both boys started in with a will. The first 
customer was a little girl, and both Richard and 
Frank desired the honor of waiting upon her. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


233 


But the girl wanted a cent’s worth of red chalk, and 
as neither could find the article in demand the 
would-be purchaser was turned over to Phil, who in 
turn handed the cash to Frank, while Richard 
gravely made the entry upon the daily sales-hook. 

But the two set diligently at work, and by 
evening had the stock fairly well located in mind 
and also the prices. During the day trade had 
been fairly brisk, and when closing up time came 
they found they had taken in twenty-eight 
dollars. 

“I don’t know if that’s good or bad,” said 
Richard. “ We certainly sold goods to all who 
wished them.” 

“The thing is to sell to those who don’t know 
whether they want to buy or- not,” observed 
Frank. “ Still I guess twenty-eight dollars is 
fair enough for Tuesday.” 

Both were on hand early next morning. Accord- 
ing to Mr. Martin’s instructions the show-windows 
were emptied, and after they had been cleaned, 
Frank, assisted by Richard, dressed them again. 

Now, Mr. Martin’s window dressing had always 
been of the plain, old-fashioned kind, not altogether 
suited to the present times. He only put in a few 
staple articles and left them unchanged for a long 
time. 


234 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


But Frank Massanet proceeded on different 
lines, and when he and Richard had finished the 
improvement was apparent. Nearly every class 
of goods in the store was represented, and any- 
thing new or special was given a prominent 
place. 

“That looks hot,” said Phil, who was given to 
slang. “ Never saw it so showy before.” 

And the many people who stopped to gaze at the 
display seemed to justify his statement. 

“ How often should a window like that be 
cleaned ? ” asked Richard. 

“ At least once a week,” replied Frank. “ And 
twice a week is not too much, if you have the time 
to spare.” 

Both Richard and Frank worked dilligently all 
day. Of course many things were strange to 
them, and they made some laughable blunders ; but 
they invariably took things so pleasantly that none 
of the customers seemed to mind. 

When night came they found that they had 
taken in five dollars more than the day previous. 

“It’s on account of fixing up the window,” said 
Richard. 

“Partly that, and partly getting used to cus- 
tomers and the run of stock,” replied Frank. 

They were soon on the way home. Richard had 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


235 


sent his letter to his mother the day previous, and 
was now expecting one in return. 

“Here is your usual letter,” said Mattie Mas- 
sanet, appearing at the door. 

“Thank you,” replied Richard. “Excuse me if 
I look at it at once. I want to see if it contains 
anything important.” 

Richard tore the letter open and began to read. 
His eyes had glanced over scarcely a dozen lines 
when he uttered a cry of dismay. 

And no wonder, for the communication con- 
tained the startling intelligence that fire had vis- 
ited Mossvale, the Dare cottage was burned to the 
ground, and his mother and sisters were left with- 
out a home. 


236 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE l 


CHAPTER XXXI. 

TOM clover’s statement. 

The news from Mossvale was certainly a cruel 
blow to Richard, and, as he read the letter written 
by his sister Nancy, his cheeks paled. 

“What is it?” asked Frank, seeing that some- 
thing was wrong. “ No one dead, I hope.” 

“No, not as bad as that,” replied Richard 
faintly ; “ but bad enough. Read it.” 

Frank took the letter and glanced at it hastily. 
The important passages ran as follows : 

“It is awful news. Our home is burned to the 
ground, and I am writing this at Mrs. Wood’s 
where we are all staying. The fire started in the 
barn (we think a tramp must have done it), and the 
wind carried the sparks over to the house, and in 
ten minutes it was all ablaze. It was one o’clock at 
night, and no one was around to help us. Mother, 
Grace and I saved all we could, but that was not 
much, because we did not have time, and it got so 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


237 


awfully hot. When the fire was out, Charlie made 
us all go over to his house, and sent a team over 
for what stuff we had saved. 

“ Mother is awfully excited, and Grace is sick over 
it. Madge is all right, and so am I. But I think 
it’s awful, and I don’t know what we are going to 
do. Mrs. Wood and Charley, are very kind, but 
we can’t stay here very long, even if Grace is 
engaged to Charley. 

“ Mother says there is an insurance on the house 
and furniture for nine hundred dollars, but she 
hasn’t been able to find the papers yet, and maybe 
they have been burned, too. If you can, come 
down right away. I suppose they don’t like to let 
clerks off in New York, but they ought to make an 
exception in a case like this.” 

Frank handed the letter over to his sister Mattie. 

“I’m sorry for you and your folks, Dick,” he said 
earnestly. “ Of course you’ll go at once.” 

“ How can I ? ” replied Richard helplessly. “ Mr. 
Martin will ” 

“Never mind Mr. Martin,” interrupted Frank. 
“ Your first duty is to your family. I’ll get along 
as best I can, and I’ll explain to Mr. Martin if he 
gets back before you do.” 

“But what will you do for meals? You must 


238 BICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

have time to get them ? ” went on Richard, anxious 
lest his friend should be assuming too much. 

“He can take lunch along, and I’ll bring him his 
dinner,” put in Mattie. “You go, Dick; your 
mother and your sisters need you.” 

Richard needed no further urging. Whatever 
Mattie said must certainly be right. He glanced at 
the clock. 

“Quarter to ten. I wonder when I can get a 
train ? ” he cried. 

A consultation of a time-table showed that no 
train for Mossvale could be had until nine-thirty 
the next morning. 

“It’s too bad!” he groaned. “I could have 
taken one just an hour ago if I had known.” 

There was nothing to do, however, but wait, and 
so Richard retired with the rest. 

He passed a sleepless night, thinking over what 
had happened, and trying to form some plan for 
the future. But he could arrive at no conclusion, 
and found that he must wait until he had talked 
the matter over with the others. 

He was the first one up in the morning, and, hav- 
ing over three hours yet to wait, took a walk 
around to the store to see what Phil was doing. 

“ There is a telegram for you ; just came,” said 
the boy, and he handed it over. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


239 


“ More news from home,” thought Richard. 
“But we have no telegraph office. Wonder what 
it means ? ” 

And he tore the telegram open. 

It ran as follows : 


“Philadelphia, June 28. 

“ Richard Dare : 

“ My son is dead. Close store until further orders. 

“ Jonas Martin.” 

Richard had just finished reading the dispatch 
when Frank came up. 

“You are ahead of me,” said Frank. “What 
have you there ? ” 

“ Word from Mr. Martin. His son is dead, and 
we are to close the store until further notice.” 

Here was more sad news. Phil, who had known 
young Mr. Martin well, and liked him, felt it the 
most. 

“It will break old Mr. Martin all up,” he said 
sadly. “He thought a heap of his son. The two 
were alone in the world.” 

“ I can get away easily enough now,” said Richard, 
with a sorry little laugh. “I won’t hurry back as 
soon as I intended. You must write me if anything 
turns up,” 


240 RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 

In less than an hour the store was closed up, a 
death notice pasted on the door, and then Frank 
accompanied Richard down to the ferry. 

On the corner of Liberty Street they met Pep, 
who started back in surprise. 

“ I was just cornin’ up to see you ! ” he exclaimed 
to Richard. “My uncle wants you to come right 
down ! ” 

“Wants me to come down?” queried Richard. 
“What for?” 

“ Don’t know exactly. Dad’s there, and they 
both want to see you. You’d better go right away ; 
but maybe you was going,” added Pep suddenly. 

“No, I wasn’t. I was going to take a train 
home,” replied Richard. “Perhaps it’s nothing in 
particular.” 

He had an hour before train time, and, accom- 
panied by Frank, walked down to the Watch 
Below. 

Doc Linyard greeted him cordially. He was sur- 
prised to see Richard dressed up, and- grieved to 
learn of the cause. 

“Well, Pm glad as how I ain’t got no bad news 
to tell you,” said the old sailor with a grin. “ Tom 
Clover is upstairs, in his right mind, and wants to 
see you.” 

“ What about ? ” 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF 


241 


“ Never mind, just go up,” replied Doc. 

On a comfortable bed, in an upper chamber, lay 
Tom Clover. Good care and nursing had done 
wonders for the man, and when Richard looked at 
him he could hardly realize that this was the mis- 
erable wretch he had visited in the garret at Frying 
Pan Court. 

“Here’s Mr. Dare come to see you,” said Doc 
Linyard, by way of an introduction. 

Tom Clover grasped Richard’s hand tightly. 

“Betty and Doc have told me all about you,” he 
said in a somewhat feeble voice. “I thank you 
more than I can put in words. Sit down ; I want 
to talk to you.” 

“ I would like to, Mr. Clover, but I’ve got to 
catch a train for home in three quarters of an 
hour,” replied Richard. “I’ll call as soon as I get 
back.” 

“Just stay a little while,” urged Doc Linyard. 
“ Tom’s got something to say to you.” 

“ Doc tells me your father was a soldier in the 
late war ? ” went on Tom Clover. 

“Yes, sir.” 

“ Did he once live in Brooklyn ?” 

“Yes, sir. But ” and Richard paused, while 

his heart beat rapidly. 

“ And was his first name John ? ” 

16 


242 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


“ Yes, sir — John Cartwell Dare. But why do you 
ask, Mr. Clover? Is it possible that you knew 
him ? ” 

Tom Clover raised himself up to a sitting posi- 
tion. 

“ Know him ? ” he cried. “We were bosom com- 
panions for eighteen months ! Why, I caught him 
in my arms the day he was shot ! ” 


OR, STRIKING OUT TOR HIMSELF. 


243 


CHAPTER XXXII. 

THE FIRM OF MASSANET AND DARE. 

Tom Clover’s unexpected statement was a rev- 
elation to Richard, and subsequent questioning 
convinced the boy that all that Doc Linyard’s 
brother-in-law had said concerning the acquaintance 
with his father was perfectly true. 

It was a fact that Clover had been drafted in 
Boston, but during the second year of his service 
his time had expired, and then he had enlisted in 
a Brooklyn regiment, and become a member of 
the same company to which Mr. Dare belonged. 

“It seems too good to he true,” cried Richard 
finally. “ Perhaps Doc has already told you of the 
pension we are trying to get.” 

“ Yes, and I can witness the papers easily enough, 
and get several others to, too, if it’s necessary. 
Have you got them here in the city ? ” 

“ No ; they are home. But I can soon get them, 
and either bring them or send them on.” 

This was agreed to, and it was with a much 


244 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE; 


lighter heart that Richard, a quarter of an hour 
later, bade Frank good-by at the ferry. 

“ Send the papers to me,” said Frank at parting. 
“ I haven’t anything to do at present, and will at- 
tend to the affair with pleasure. ” 

“Thank you, Frank, I will,” was Richard’s re- 

ply- 

The journey to Mossvale was an uneventful one. 
When Richard reached the Wood cottage all the 
family ran out to meet him, and in a second his 
mother’s arms were about his neck. 

“ I’m so glad you have come, Richard ! ” she 
cried. “ We need you sadly.” 

Presently he was seated in the doorway, with 
little Madge on his knee, and the others gathered 
around, and there he listened to all they had to tell. 

The insurance, papers had been found, but Mrs. 
Dare was undecided whether to rebuild or accept 
the cash. 

“We could not get back such a nice home as we 
had for nine hundred dollars,” she said. “And, 
besides, Sandy Stone has offered me two hundred 
dollars for the land, and that’s a good price, Mr. 
Wood says.” 

“ Did you save father’s pension papers ? ” 

“Yes. But why do you ask?” inquired Mrs. 
Dare, her curiosity aroused. 


OR, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 


245 


For reply Richard told the little party all about 
his strange meeting with Tom Clover. 

“ He tells the truth ! ” cried Mrs. Dare. “I have 
heard your father mention his name. Thank 
heaven for having brought you two together ! ” 

And that night, even with all their troubles, the 
whole Dare family rested without much worry be- 
neath their kind neighbor’s roof. 

In the morning Richard sent the pension papers 
to Frank by the first mail. Then he helped get 
what was left of their furniture into shape, and 
took a walk over to what had been the old home- 
stead. 

Nothing remained but a heap of charred timbers 
and fallen stones. 

“ It’s the ending of our life here in the country,” 
he whispered to himself. “ God grant it may 
be the beginning of a more prosperous one in the 
city.” 

At the close of the week came visitors — Frank, 
Doc Linyard, and a strange gentleman, who was 
introduced as Mr. Styles, the old sailor’s lawyer 
friend. 

“Mr. Styles says your claim is all right,” said 
Doc Linyard, when introductions all round were 
over. “He says as how you’ll get twenty-five 
hundred dollars afore three months are up.” 


246 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE ; 


It was glorious news. 

“ Sure ?” asked Mrs. Dare, with tears in her eyes. 

“ Positive, madam, ” replied Mr. Styles. “I will 
buy the claim for two thousand dollars if you 
need the money,” he whispered. 

“ No, thank you ; I can wait,” she replied. “But 
I will pay you well for what you have done for us,” 
she added hastily. 

“ Avast there ! ” cried the old sailor. “ Tom and I 
are going to settle his claim. We’re going to get our 
money in one month — two thousand dollars each ! ” 

A little while later Frank drew Richard to one 
side. 

“I’ve heard from Mr. Martin,” he said. “Since 

his son died he has lost all interest in his business, 

% 

and he wants to sell out and go back to his family 
in England.” 

“Sellout?” repeated Richard in surprise. “It 
would be a good chance for us. ” 

“So I thought; a chance that may not happen 
again in a lifetime. He has been established twelve 
years, and has a good run of trade. Last year his 
sales amounted to twelve thousand dollars. The 
rent is only seven hundred dollars a year, and he has 
a three years’ lease.” 

“ How much does he ask ? ” 

“If he can sell out before the first he will do so 


OK, STRIKING OUT FOR HIMSELF. 247 

at the cost of the stock — fifteen hundred dollars. 
Now, by hard scraping I can raise half of that, and 
if you can raise the other half, and a little extra 
besides, I believe it will prove a good venture.” 

Richard thought a moment. 

“If my mother will advance the money 111 do 
it,” he replied. 

******* 

Two years have passed. 

As Mr. Styles had predicted, at the end of three 
months Mr. Dare’s pension money was in the 
widow’s possession. Long before this, however, 
Mrs. Dare sold her land in Mossvale, and removed 
with her family to New York, having apartments 
adjacent to Mrs. Massanet, with whom she was soon 
on intimate terms. She advanced the necessary 
money to Richard, and he and Frank Massanet im- 
mediately bought out Mr. Martin’s store and set up 
business on their own account. 

Doc Linyard and Tom Clover now run a prosper- 
ous hotel and restaurant in the lower part of the 
city, where their old friends are always welcome. 
Pep attends school regularly, and thoroughly ap- 
preciates his improved condition in life. 

Grace Dare has gone back to the country, and in 
her Charley Wood has found an affectionate wife 


248 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE. 


and a good housekeeper. Next month Nancy is to 
become Mrs. Massanet. As for Mattie Massanet, 
she is often seen to blush when Richard’s name is 
mentioned, and rumor has it that she will some 
day give her heart into the keeping of her brother’s 
partner. 

And Mr. Timothy Joyce ? Only last week I met 
him at a Third Avenue Elevated Station, looking 
as stout and hearty as ever. 

“ Just come down on the train,” he replied, in 
answer to my question. “Been making a call on 
Massanet & Dare, the stationers and booksellers. 
They are young friends of mine, Dare especially, 
and I take a great interest in them. Since they 
fixed up this spring they’ve got a fine store, and I 
know they’re doing first-rate. They deserve it, too 
— working as hard as they do. They’ve got my 
best wishes for success.” 

And ours, too ; eh, reader \ 


THE END. 


THE OLD GLORY SERIES. 

By EDWARD STRATEMEYER, 

Atithor of “ The Bound to Succeed Series “ The Ship and Shore Series etc. 
Three Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.25. 


UNDER DEWEY AT MANILA Or the War Fortunes of 
a Castaway. 

A YOUNG VOLUNTEER IN CUBA Or Fighting for the 
Single Star. 

FIGHTING IN CUBAN WATERS Or Under Schley on 
the Brooklyn. 


PRESS NOTICES. 

“ * Under Dewey at Manila ’ is a thoroughly timely book, in perfect sympathy with 
the patriotism of the day. Its title is conducive to its perusing, and its reading to 
anticipation. For the volume is but the first of the Old Glory Series, and the im- 
print is that of the famed firm of Lee and Shepard, whose name has been for so many 
years linked with the publications of Oliver Optic. As a matter of fact, the story is 
right in line with the productions of that gifted and most fascinating of authors, and 
certainly there is every cause for congratulation that the stirring events of our recent 
war are not to lose their value for instruction through that valuable school which the 
late William T. Adams made so individually distinctive. 

“ Edward Stratemeyer, who is the author of the present work, has proved an extra- 
ordinarily apt scholar, and had the book appeared anonymously there could hardly 
have failed of a unanimous opinion that a miracle had enabled the writer of the 
famous Army and Navy and other series to resume his pen for the volume in hand. 
Mr. Stratemeyer has acquired in a wonderfully successful degree the knack of writ- 
ing an interesting educational story which will appeal to the young people, and the 
plan of his trio of books as outlined cannot fail to prove both interesting and valu- 
able.” — Boston Ideas. 

“ Stratemeyer’s style suits the boys.” — John Terhune, Supi. of Public Instruc- 
tion , Bergen Co., New Jersey. 

“ ‘ The Young Volunteer in Cuba,’ the second of the Old Glory Series, is better 
than the first; perhaps it traverses more familiar ground. -Ben Russell, the brother 
of Larry, who was ‘ with Dewey,’ enlists with the volunteers and goes to Cuba, 
where he shares in the abundance of adventure and has a chance to show his courage 
and honesty and manliness, which win their reward. A good book for boys, giving 
a good deal of information in a most attractive form.” — Universalist Leader. 


For sale by all booksellers , or sent, postpaid, on receipt of price by 

LEE & SHEPARD, Publishers, 


BOSTON. 


THE BOUND TO SUCCEED SERIES 


By EDWARD STR ATEflEY ER, 


Author of “ Under Dewey at Manila,” etc. 


Three Volumes. Cloth. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.00. 


RICHARD DARE’S VENTURE Or Striking Out for 
Himself. 

OLIVER BRIGHT’S SEARCH Or The Mystery of 
a Mine. 

TO ALASKA FOR GOLD Or The Fortune Hunters 
of the Yukon. (In press.) 


PRESS OPINIONS OF EDWARD STRATEMEYER’S BOOKS FOR YOUNG 

PEOPLE. 


“ In * Richard Dare’s Venture,’ Edward Stratemeyer has fully sustained his repu- 
tation as an entertaining, helpful, and instructive writer for boys.” — Philadelphia 


Call. 


44 ‘ Richard Dare’s Venture,’ by Edward Stratemeyer, tells the story of a country 
lad who goes to New York to earn enough to support his widowed mother and 
orphaned sisters. Richard’s energy, uprightness of character, and good sense carry 
him through some trying experiences, and gain him friends.” — The Churchman , 
New York. 

“A breezy boy’s book is 4 Oliver Bright’s Search.’ The author has a direct, graphic 
style, and every healthy minded youth will enjoy the volume.” — N. Y. Commercial 
Advertiser. 

44 4 Richard Dare’s Venture ’ is a fresh, wholesome book to put into a boy’s hands.” 
— St. Louis Post Dispatch. 

44 4 Richard Dare’s Venture ’ is a wholesome story of a practical boy who made a 
way for himself when thrown upon his own resources.” — Christian Advocate. 

“It is such books as ‘Richard Dare’s Venture’ that are calculated to inspire 
young readers with a determination to succeed in life, and to choose some honorable 
walk in which to find that success. The author, Edward Stratemeyer, has shown a 
judgment that is altogether too rare in the makers of books for boys, in that he has 
avoided that sort of heroics in the picturing of the life of his hero which deals in 
adventures of the daredevil sort. In that respect alone the book commends itself to 
the favor of parents who have a regard for the education of their sons, but the story 
is sufficiently enlivening and often thrilling to satisfy the healthful desires of the 
young reader.” — Kansas City Star. 

“ Of standard writers of boys’ stories there is quite a list, but those who have not 
read any by Edward Stratemeyer have missed a very goodly thing.” — Boston Ideas . 


For sale by all booksellers , or will be sent, postpaid, on receipt of Price bjj 


LEE & 



Publishers! 


BOSTON, 


OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS 


All-Over-tlie- World Library. By Oliver Optic. First Series. 
Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.25. 

1. A Missing Million; or, The Adventures of Louis Belgrade. 

2. A Millionaire at Sixteen; or, The Cruise of the “Guardian 

Mother.” 

3. A Young Kniglit Errant; or, Cruising in the West Indies. 

4. Strange Sights Abroad; or, Adventures in European Waters. 

No author has come before the public during the present generation who 
has achieved a larger and more deserving popularity among young people than 
“ Oliver Optic.” His stories have been very numerous, but they have been 
uniformly excellent in moral tone and literary quality. As indicated in the 
general title, it is the author’s intention to conduct the readers of this enter- 
taining series “ around the world.” As a means to this end, the hero of the 
story purchases a steamer which he names the “ Guardian Mother,” and 
with a number of guests she proceeds on her voyage. — Christian Work , N. K 


All-Over-the- World Library. By Oliver Optic. Second 
Series. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.25. 

1. American. Boys Afloat; or, Cruising in the Orient. 

2. The Young Navigators ; or, The Foreign Cruise of the 

“ Maud.” 

3. XJp and Down the Nile ; or, Young Adventurers in Africa. 

4. Asiatic Breezes ; or, Students on the Wing. 

The interest in these stories is continuous, and there is a great variety of 
exciting incident woven into the solid information which the book imparts so 
generously and without the slightest suspicion of dryness. Manly boys 
will welcome this volume as cordially as they did its predecessors. — Boston 
Gazette . 


All-Over-the- World Library. By Oliver Optic. Third Se- 
ries. Illustrated. Price per volume, $1.25. 

1. Across India ; or, Live Boys in the Far East. 

2. Half Round the World; or, Among the Uncivilized. 

3. Four Young Explorers ; or, Sight-Seeing in the Tropics. 

4. Pacific Shores ; or, Adventures in Eastern Seas. 

Amid such new and varied surroundings it would be surprising indeed if the 
author, with his faculty of making even the commonplace attractive, did not 
tell an intensely interesting story of adventure, as well as give much informa- 
tion in regard to the distant countries through which our friends pass, and 
the strange peoples with whom they are brought in contact. This book, and 
indeed the whole series, is admirably adapted to reading aloud in the family 
circle, each volume containing matter which will interest all the members of 
the family. — Boston Budget . 

IEE AND SHEPARD, BOSTON, SEND THEIR COMPLETE CATALOGUE FREE, 


OLIVER OPTIC’S BOOKS 


The Way of the World. By Oliver Optic. Illustrated. 
$1.5°. 

“ One of the most interesting American novels we have ever read.” — Phila- 
delphia City Item. 

“ This story treats of a fortune of three million dollars left a youthful heir. 
The volume bears evidence in every chapter of the fresh, original, and fascinat- 
ing style which has always enlivened Mr. Adams’ productions. We have the 
same felicitous manner of working out the plot by conversation, the same 
quaint wit and humor, and a class of characters which stand out boldly, pen 
photographs of living beings. 

“ The book furnishes a most romantic and withal a most instructive illustra- 
tion of the way of the world in its false estimate of money.” 

Living 1 too Fast; or, the Confessions of a Bank Officer. 
By Oliver Optic. Illustrated. $1.50. 

This story records the experience of a bank officer in the downward career of 
crime. The career ought, perhaps, to have ended in the State’s prison; but 
the author chose to represent the defaulter as sharply punished in another way. 
The book contains a most valuable lesson; and shows, in another leading 
character, the true life which a young business man ought to lead. 

In Doors and Out ; or, Views from a Chimney Corner. By 
Oliver Optic. Illustrated. $1.50. 

“ Many who have not time and patience to wade through a long story will 
find here many pithy and sprightly tales, each sharply hitting some social 
absurdity or social vice. We recommend the book heartily after having read 
the three chapters on ‘Taking a Newspaper.” If all the rest are as sensible 
and interesting as these, and doubtless they are, the book is well worthy of 
patronage.” — Vermont Record. 

“As a writer of domestic stories, Mr. William T. Adams (Oliver Optic) 
made his mark even before he became so immensely popular through his 
splendid books for the young. In the volume before us are given several of 
these tales, and they comprise a book which will give them a popularity greater 
than they have ever before enjoyed. They are written in a spirited style, 
impart valuable practical lessons, and are of the most lively interest.” — Boston 
Home Journal. 

Our Standard Bearer. A Life of Gen. U. S. Grant. By 
Oliver Optic. Illustrated by Thomas Nast. Illuminated 
covers, $1.50. 

It has long been out of print, but now comes out in a new edition, with a 
narrative of the civil career of the General as President for two terms, his 
remarkable journey abroad, his life in New York, and his sickness, death, and 
burial. Perhaps the reader will remember that the narrative is told by 
“ Captain Galligasken ” after a style that is certainly not common or tiresome, 
but, rather, in a direct, simple, picturesque, and inspiring way that wins the 
heart of the young reader. For the boy who wants to read the life of General 
Grant, this book is the best that has been published, — perhaps the only one 
that is worth any consideration. 

Just His Luck. By Oliver Optic. Illustrated. $1.00. 

“ It deals with real flesh and blood boys ; with boys who possess many noble 
qualities of mind ; with boys of generous impulses and large hearts ; with boys 
who delight in playing pranks, and who are ever ready for any sort of mischief; 
and with boys in whom human nature is strongly engrafted. They are boys, 
as many of us have been; boys in the true, unvarnished sense of the word; 
boys with hopes, ideas, and inspirations, but lacking in judgment, self-control, 
and discipline. And the book contains an appropriate moral, teaches many a 
lesson, and presents many a precept worthy of being followed. It is a capital 
book for boys.” 


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